Rise Through The Fire
by StonedAsia
Summary: Alternate X-Men 13-22: The conclusion: one zealous antagonist irrevocably alters the world for the worse, and the students are powerless to halt the fallout. Please read and review
1. Read Me

Title: Alternate X-Men: As above – different for each Series Part really, and I like to name the individual chapter parts too.  Jolly, isn't it?

Author: StonedAsia, aka, Rowland Wells.

Disclaimer: Everything I've detailed below is officially the property of Marvel Comics, Stan Lee and Jack Kirby.  Chris Claremont was an inspiration, and so was Jim Lee's artwork.  

I don't own the characters and I'm not making any money from this; I just like to play with them.

Rating: R  Apart from some bad language – don't say fuck or bugger – and some implicit sex and violence, there really isn't too much to worry about.  Maybe later, though, I'll have some drugs and rock and roll too; who knows?

Spoilers: Yes, there is some resemblance to the Ultimate X-Men comic line, but it is slightly different; I only took that comic line for inspiration.  I guess there's also some part of the films and tv series as well; plus a healthy dose of my imagination.

Summary: There's a lot of action, a little slice of romance, some small helpings of fantasy politics, thrills and spills and lots of words.  If you're not into reading, then go away.  No, seriously, go away.

Reviewing: I have spent quite a while writing these works, and even if it comes to no satisfactory fruition, I would still love to know what the X-Men fans think, so please review.  It would be very beneficial, and you'd be doing me a favour.

Authors Notes: A lot of time went into these works, and I'm sure that some people, like me, will appreciate the outcome.  I'm not a very good writer, but I try my best.

Things you should know before we tread virgin territory:

· The original X-Men Xavier hires are: Scott, Jean, Hank, Tessa and Warren

· I hardly ever use their codenames because I feel that detracts from the personality of the aforementioned character.  I realise that some characters just like in the comics appear two-dimensional at first, but as the story deepens, and more additions are made, they will start to gain a third dimension

· The following stories take place in the present day, but the Marvel Universe is only different in that the characters have been altered

More Authors Notes: I love music so much, and although everyone likes something different, the best music for reading this kind of stuff too is usually by:

Autechre, Aphex Twin, Boards of Canada, Underworld, Future Sound of London, Tricky, Massive Attack, Nine Inch Nails, Portishead, Lamb, Squarepusher, Photek, Martin Grech, Orb, DJ Shadow, Bjork, Leftfield, Radiohead and of course, the wonderful Smashing Pumpkins – which, lets face it, goes with anything. 

Even More Authors Notes: I've had some support in writing the following, including: Mum, Dad, Bunny and Allie

Plus my inspirational and often amusing friends who at least bothered to talk about it with me –

Sam, Ed S, Ed F, Hannah, Fro, Ant, Dave R, Dave M, Nial, Rob R, Serkie, Toby, Billy and the ever humorous Dave Y – without your constant barrage of questions I might never have been motivated enough.

You people are all very special.

Thanks for taking an interest, and I might buy you all a little something when I'm rich and famous.


	2. the sign outside the door says beware th...

Writer: Rowland Wells

_Disclaimer:  I am in no way any part of Marvel Comics or any affiliation of their enterprise.  I do not own the X-Men or any Marvel Characters.  _

Alternate 

X-Men 

#13

"the sign outside the door says beware the caged animal"

It had been a trying series of steps to dismantle the entire Weapon X operation in the centre of Finland, and return the prisoners to some state of normalcy.  The clean-up procedure after the raid and various explosions had taken several days, but SHIELD agents were still concentrating on the dissolution of the programme's technology and materials used in construction of the underground base.  However easy it was to assemble the former prisoners, including the men and women from Xavier's institute, and explain why they ended up in the arms of a deadly secretive Government branch of the CIA, it was infinitely more demanding to put the people responsible on trial and then deconstruct their base of operations.  Selling the scrap metal alone would be tricky as any incriminating insignia had to be removed prior to delivery.  Captain Nick Fury's men would recall every weapon, medical device and technological ornament in the gutted installation, but time was against them as he was running out of excuses to dissuade the Finland Environmental Protection Agency from visiting the site.  To all intents and purposes Weapon X no longer existed, but for Fury to explain why his men, who had no permission to be in the country, were currently examining every rock and leaf in the surrounding area, he had to be sure there was nothing left for the EPA to scrutinize.  SHIELD did seem to be a magic password in most countries, but reports were being issued from the nearby city of Lisalmi and the Fin authorities were becoming suspicious.

Deciding to clear the activities with the acting U.S President after sufficient harassment, Fury contacted him from his ground quarters in Washington D.C.  The most powerful man in the free world had come to position through an awkward sequence of events, where the original President, Oval U.N Baxteridge, had been assassinated in Dallas, Texas, by mutant militants; in the event of such a catastrophe the Vice President Dwight Jackson was destined to assume the position, only he was killed days later by another unknown assailant.  The Secretary of State, McCormick Johnston, was to then take the title, and so far he had not encountered such resilient unknown protest.  He had been the one to commission the Sentinel assault on Magneto's fortress in the Savage land, but with good reason.  After surviving the leader's display of supremacy, he gained an incredible amount of public support and allowed for sources on both sides of the evolutionary debate to influence further any decisions made.  For now, the compulsory mutant registration act was enough; a re-enactment of previous debacles was out of the question for a country which had more authority in the world than any other.  The United States could not be seen as a haven for mutant activism or human terrorism.

When finally put through, Fury was pleased to see a veteran face on screen in the Oval office.  Since appearing there last, the Captain noticed several subtle changes to the layout; glazed windows, more armed bodyguards and a penchant for paranoia seeped through his digital videophone display.  The man himself even looked as if he was sweating bullets just being there.  'Are you still getting use to the title, Sir?'  Fury asked, stealing not to light a cigarette whilst addressing such a title.

'Nothing gets by you does it, Nick – I think I'm just weary of all the silence in the country at the moment.  Seems like a ticking time bomb.'

'Make sure nobody quotes you on that.'  Fury chuckled falsely, suppressing his small contempt for the man whom supposedly ran the country.  'Do you think you're still in tune with your former position?'

'No, no,' the President replied, getting up to sort pieces of paperwork his blonde bubble of an assistant was handing him 'it's a whole new ball-game.  Anyway, what about you?  Still spearheading the problems we have abroad?'

Deciding to forgo his respect, Fury quickly pulled a smoke from the pack and lit up in front of the videophone.  'Yeah, something like that.'  He responded affably.  'Listen Sir, I've already given all the appropriate details to the Secretary of Defence, but it's only proper that I issue you the same material before he busts in there striking up like he knew it all first.  Nothing gets by us, as you said.'

The Captain proceeded to lay down the outer structure of the information regarding Weapon X's operation outside U.S soil, avoiding much of the minor groundwork.  He covered the previous Commander's motives for such a task, and the way in which he treated several of the prisoners incarcerated.  It wasn't vital that he tell the President everything, but to gain significant leeway with the authorities in Finland, Fury had to present enough of a rationale.  'I don't want to burden you with all this, because I assure you it is being dealt with in a pertinent manner,' the Captain continued 'but I just need a little high-order diplomacy to keep the authorities aboard off my back.  Normally, this kind of thing never occurs, but since the Fin Government wasn't informed in the beginning, there's little inclination to let us trample their soil.'

McCormick Johnston nodded into the screen amiably.  'I'll see what I can do, Nick.  Until next time, eh?'

Fury agreed, and clicked the link off.  Blowing smoke into the open air of his large office, he slumped back in the chair and ran several fingers through a crop of greying hair.  Val walked over to him and leant on the desk.  She offered a cup of something stirring, and then watched him drink it.  'All cleared up then?'  She enquired.

'Yes,' he responded, straightening in the chair 'just time to lock up Hawk Spaskyich and then interrogate him.'

'So, take a knife to his back…'  Val said criticising the move.

'That's not what I said – we'll take care of him, but when it comes down to his destination, then yes, he's going to pay for his insubordination and crimes to the State, no doubt.'  Fury replied in kind.  If it were completely up to him, then the Commander would be executed.

'Where exactly are you taking care of him?'  She asked, pushing the conversation further.

'God, Val, why do you want to know?  I'm sure we've been working too long together – you're not supposed to be asking me these kinds of questions.'

'Don't be silly Nick, I'm just curious.  The man sickens me; I just take a bit of pride in his punishment.'  Val answered, sure of his accord.

'I do too; what I can say is that he's in the detention block right now and then he is scheduled to be delivered into the orbiting station above in a few days.  No trial, only a sharp interrogation and then he's off.  We know what he did, and there's literally no escape for the bastard this time.'  Fury stated, finishing his cup.  It was an awkward business, detaining many of SHIELD's most high-level suspects and culprits in the basement of the ground headquarters, but the sacrifice of security had to be made ahead of shooting criminals into a geo-synchronous armed space station thirty five thousand feet up.  To say that the Captain was violating security protocol would be an understatement, but it was_ only __Val he was talking to._

                                                *        *        *

In the aftermath of the Weapon X crisis, many emotions ran high, and much had happened in a small amount of time.  Overall, the kidnapped students had been restrained for about a fortnight, and Charles had arrived back to witness the collapse of the gutted Mansion with only Kurt Wagner, a German born mutant, as support.  The Professor could speak the language, but in his time of need, Kurt had not been much help.  Deciding to regain Warren's assistance, the two had flown in the untouched Blackbird to London.  Not only was the twenty-six year old mutant healed from his previous encounters, but he had brought with him a rather useful young woman, Betsy Braddock, who seemed to have control of her telepathic capabilities.  Considering their situation, Charles deemed it practical that she should aid in the recovery operation.  Unfortunately, that still didn't help because no-one on board had any idea where the captured students were.  After many days of fruitless searching, even with the technology that was the Blackbird, the hopeful four were contacted by Fury and his SHIELD soldiers who thought it best that they should deal with the sadistic Weapon X agents.  Xavier had complied, but took the coordinates gratefully and proceeded toward the dense woodlands in Finland where Spaskyich was veiled.  Through some tense and abrupt fighting, they were finally able to escape intact but without their most mysterious member.  Logan had gone missing, and without the Cerebro computer unit online, Charles had no method of contact.  Ascertaining his whereabouts would be next to impossible as the man was a trained assassin, and therefore extremely difficult to find, so Charles would have to leave Logan to take care of himself for the time being.  Whether or not he would return was his choice but Xavier felt he was a source of tension among the students, so if indeed he never revisited, they wouldn't hold a funeral.

His indispensable students had returned in a worthy condition, particularly Scott and Jean, who seemed stronger and more definitely bonded than before the ordeal.  Tessa was no different, as she had been the first student Xavier ever recruited, and she had seen a lot more than anyone else attending the school.  Hank was another person altogether from undergoing the various experiments the Doctors and Surgeons had performed, especially in his physical appearance, but Charles found himself much more concerned with the mental damage inflicted by the trauma.  Not only had he retracted from the main body of the group, such as in communal games and activities, but he stayed a lot more secluded than previously seen.  It was rare to see him anywhere other than the refurnished laboratories in the Mansion's basement during daylight hours.  

Reflecting on their psychological reports, Charles noted in each the condition of the owners upon return.  Bobby was in a weaker mental state, and this was mirrored in his enthusiasm for activities and class work; Charles might have assumed this simple decline was the result of stress in the workplace, but he knew better the demands of his institutions enrolment.  Perhaps he was a less hardy individual from the initiation and Xavier had been clouded by the advanced state of his abilities for such a level of maturity, but that was part of the risk of running a school which accommodated for all ages.  If this was the case, all that was required would be more intense training in a less detrimental environment.  Charles predicted that he could persevere with more experience and more luck.  If the odds were constantly stacked against him, morale was bound to sink to depressive levels.  

Background individuals such as Kitty and Piotr appeared much more resilient at first glance, but as Charles had to admit, his knowledge of both were purely superficial.  He was the one who influenced the two to join, but after an increasing array of awkward circumstances there would undoubtedly be a rift of unfamiliarity between them.  To gain a sufficient slant on both their psychological profiles, Charles asked Tessa to aid him in structuring the reports.  Only time spent with Kitty and Piotr alone or together would yield a more beneficial relationship.

The one student left was Ororo Munroe, the African American, long white-haired drifter girl who Jean had found sulking in the Manhattan district stationhouse after being brought in for petty theft.  Although putting up a stern exterior, the girl was quite the personality underneath.  Her initial reaction to the school had been one of an alternative to rotting in a jailhouse for several years, but growing accustomed to the like-mindedness and familiarity that members of the institute presented, Ororo was quickly absorbed into the ranks.  She had a rather apparent maternal instinct, but at the same time revelled in letting her young, sly and mischievous side shine through.  Charles considered her, along with everyone else under his care, a contradiction of emotions.  Despite the general air of nervousness, Ororo was sturdy under pressure and could hold her own in a number of situations.  Whether or not she had been distorted drastically by the experience away from her new home, Charles wasn't at liberty to say; she certainly seemed fine.  

An emotional link to Hank, the Professor assumed Ororo might be willing to bridge the distance placed by him with the other students.  His enquiries had met with little success, and it was unlikely that the thirty-three year old was just going to start opening up to his mentor once more.  He called the young black woman into his office after several days back, and sat her down by the window overlooking the rear gardens.  'I understand this will be a difficult thing to ask Ororo, but I should know before I make any decisions regarding Hank's mental health.'

She looked at him strangely, noting the troubled anxiety just below the surface of his chiselled features.  'What exactly do you want to know?'

'Your relationship with Hank – at what level of intimacy are you two?'  He asked, stepping lightly around the question.

'We can talk to each other about things… you know.'

'What I mean is: do you think you two are close enough to allow him to open up to you about something as important as his… experiences?'  He asked again.

'It's obviously not like we've known each other for years or something, but we have discussed each other's lives and events and so on.'  She replied cautiously.

'Have you had made love yet?'  Charles posed, choosing to do away with timid subtlety.

'Yes – a couple of times, but that was before we were taken.  Not since we've come back.'

'Well that's the kind of confirmation I was looking for.  You understand this I'm sure, but a bond between two people in a relationship cannot further past slim emotional ground until sex.  Maybe it's clichéd, but pillow talk is essential in many respects.'  He chuckled, watching the response on her face as she started to smirk uncontrollably.  'That's why I need that kind of intimacy, so that he may open up not just on a vocal level, but a passionate emotional one as well.  So,' he continued, calming them both 'I'm asking if you would get him to discuss his trauma.  Not only is it unhealthy if untreated, but many illnesses manifest themselves through neglected psychological damage.'  

'When should I ask him about those kinds of things then Charles, you don't think I haven't tried so far?'  Ororo asked, suddenly becoming sceptical of the unattainable results.

'Have you?'

There was a hiatus, and she managed to pull from his unfaltering stare.  'It's not like I haven't tried!  There just never seems to be an appropriate moment.  God!  What a screw up.'  She walked to the fireplace, gazing into the black burnt-out coals embedded among ash and soot.  

'Let us both just support him, that's all I say.  To ask him to talk about it might be a mistake, then.'  Charles began to second-guess himself, hoping that Ororo might pick up on his reverse psychology.  

'That's not what I said, now.  I can try as hard as I can to talk with him, because I say that what we have developed is worth pursuing.  Let us leave it at _that.'  _

                                                *        *        *

On the same mid-morning, when the rain was beating heavily on the flowers among the gardens, Hank was below the Mansion floors, studying in the newly refurbished labs.  The builders who were currently working on the mess decorating every corridor and passage had stopped for a break in the name of the weekend, and were due to begin again on Monday.  Charles had control over them, ensuring that the contractors knew they were fixing up a broken-down orphanage instead of an undercover mutant training facility just outside of New York City.  Once reconstruction had been completed, Hank kept the doors to the labs locked a lot of the time, glad that none of the vacant workmen stumbled in on a blue werewolf crouched over a microscope.  What he was actually analysing, and had been since returning, was his numerous blood draws and bio-culture swabs.  Although starting to accept his metamorphosis, Hank didn't have to like it.  Any attempt to return to normalcy was as interesting as much as it was a viable solution.  

Requesting the documentation and recordings of his surgery after the Croatia accident, Hank poured over each and every transcript in an effort to determine what turned his body hair blue.  Forget Cannabis and Peroxide, I'm looking for the serious stuff that stays in hair, he thought.  His systematic processing of data had kept him in a various state of undress and hunched shoulders for over two days now, and the light bulbs were about to burst in their sockets.  Bobby had come looking for him on Saturday night, but the blue mutant held not a warm reception for his arrival.  As good a companion as the young Drake was, Hank could not feel fully welcomed home until his continuous stream of questions had been answered.  He would never know exactly why his life had been changed so dramatically, nor would he know who by exactly, but Dr Kryles's death had given him some aspect of satisfaction.  Considering it though, the execution now only felt hollow and vengeful.  His riddance had served to purge the world of some malicious intent, but now Hank could never know what exactly they had done.  His mind had been so clouded with unadulterated rage that the thought to collect the information from the labs never occurred to him in the escape.  Fury would have it either consumed in a furnace, or shipped to a safe room somewhere in Area 51.  Whatever the destination, pondering over such a dilemma was fruitless.  In the end, Hank wondered why he had ever started thinking about it at all.  The concept of living his life out as a blue fur ball at the moment didn't appear all that maddening, it was only the reason as to why he was changed that lead to such anger; it only seemed unfair.

                                                *        *        *

The Professor had set up several rudimentary strip lights along the length of the basement corridors, but the sterile darkness that shrouded many of the damaged rooms encroached on the white glow, threatening to extinguish it altogether.  Ororo had taken the lift to the bottom floors in search of Hank, finding him stuck in a sea of paperwork and equipment.  Not knowing how to act in order for him to confide in her, Ororo seemed at a loss before Hank noticed her presence and turned.  'Oh hi there,' he said nonchalantly 'what's up?'  His voice seemed pleasant enough, but she knew him well enough to at least tell when a weight hung on his mind.  'Just checking on you.'  She replied, smiling all the while amid the darkened interior of the large lab.  'Do you need anything?'  Hank asked his attention on the microscope underneath his chin.

'I wouldn't mind talking for a bit.  You've been down here a long time so far Hank.'

'Maybe I have better things to do other than sit on my ass all day watching tv.'  He replied annoyingly.

'No need to get defensive, Doctor, I just wanted some communication.'  She exclaimed, angry at his shielding emotions.  'We haven't talked in quite some time, that's all.'

'Well I'm busy, can't you see?  If these samples don't get analysed in the first fifteen minutes of gaining them, then I lose several hours work.'  

'I guess I'll come back later then!'  She shouted at his turned back.  

Suddenly reprimanding her angered personality, Ororo gave him another chance.  'I'm sorry; I just need to talk to you, understand what you're feeling.'

Hank wheeled on his girlfriend quickly, getting off his swivel chair to bear down on her.  She took a step backward from his towering form.

'You don't know what I'm feeling!  You have no idea what I've gone through in the last three weeks – no-one does, so stop doing Charles's dirty work and tell him to piss off!'

'I'd have an idea if you would just tell me!'  She retorted, suddenly standing up to him.

'Well I don't feel like talking right now!  This isn't Jerry Springer, and I'm not some teenage kid with a drug problem!'

'You have to talk to someone – if not Charles, then me!  For chrissakes, choose me!'

'There's nothing wrong, Ororo – I'm totally fine!  I don't need your assistance here!'  He shouted, backing down from the confrontation for his repudiation.

'That's utterly ridiculous!'  She exploded, almost laughing in the process.  'Of course you're not bloody fine, you're in denial!'  

'Oh, just get the hell out of here…'  Hank scowled at her, finally giving up.  He sat back down gruffly and tapped at the keyboard.  The silence echoing in the darkened lab was near deafening, and Ororo could stand it no longer.  She whirled on her heels and marched out, irate with his pathetic refusal to accept the truth of the matter.  Not only was he a freak, but a _damn stupid one at that._

                                                *        *        *

Later on in the same day, Hank made an effort to leave the labs and spend some time reorganising his room.  During the Mansion raid, Scott had managed to take away much of the wall fixtures holding the men's dormitory corridor together.  The explosion had mostly impacted upon the ceiling and therefore sent all the rubble and debris through the roof, but remains were still present.  Chipped wood and mortar, bricks and splinters lined his carpet corners, most of it being cleared out of the centre by the builders.  Hopefully they would be able to reconstruct the entire room in a matter of weeks or so, but for now, Hank would have to sleep in the reserved bedrooms in the basement.  Like several others, he did not find the prospect so endearing, but sacrifices would have to be made in order for his original room to be restored.  Goodness only knows what the workman think, Hank wondered while pouring through his scattered bits and pieces.  Reminders from a notice board, tattered remains of sheets and clothes, bits of old VHS videos and other memorabilia embellished his carpet and shelves.  Thankfully, all of Hank's books were safe from harm – locked in a chest of drawers across from the impact point.  He took great pride in his well-established collection of books, having most of them bought through a cheap connection to a local store, but they paled in comparison to his extensive department of high-quality science magazines, Internet articles and specialist knowledge documents.  Anything to do with physics, chemistry, mathematics, computing, biology and politics was logged in his anthology, including all derivatives from those umbrella terms such as: epistemology, biomechanics, nanotechnology, metaphysics, electronics, cosmology, chaos theory and finding a way around a car engine.  He even had an article explaining the off-side rule in soccer, but that was kept well out of sight.

To Dr Henry McCoy, knowledge of all these things was paramount to his survival.  Without formulating an opinion or knowing a fact relating to one of those areas of philosophy, he could not have it in the collection.  Everything there had been studied and absorbed, processed and then spewed out in a former discussion or argument.  It was a firm belief of his that the pursuit of knowledge was what made life worth living.  He was a great man for what he knew, but right now his intellectual fountain of knowledge was not helping him.  Already having leafed through the documentation from the experimental life-saving procedures performed on him by Charles and Jean, Hank was now trying to find a shred of information which might account for his current appearance.  His hands blurred over every magazine and paper stuck in the chest, hoping in vain to find an answer.  Coming across a stack of useless war journals, he sliced a finger on the thin front page.  He knelt with his back to the door, cradling a sharp sting pulsing through the length of his forearm.  Angrily, he whipped the stack of journals into the wall and heard a shatter.  

Getting off the floor, Hank wandered dwarf-like over to pick up a small broken picture frame with an image of his parents inside.  There was a lot of bad blood within the family, especially as the mother and father were both discriminative bigots for reasons Hank would never understand.  Although their relationship constantly teetered on the edge due to their unfounded prejudice, a memory of some good times never hurt when he looked at the photographs.  Many years of unanswered telephone calls and unsent mail existed, but he knew they still thought of him.  During his early teenage years, Hank was already a larger boy than many of his friends, and unknown to him his mutation was slowly evolving.  Mutants were largely unheard of by the mid-eighties era, and Hank knew nothing of his condition until he suspected himself of being oddly different.  Muscles in his arms and legs were developing much faster than other teenagers around, and he grew inhumanly strong for such an age.  His hands and feet extended in size, and soon people began to notice; not just in school but outside on the streets.  He favoured crouching much of the time, preferring to carry himself with a more simian gait that resembled an animal among humans.  At that time he wasn't an outcast mutant but more of a freak – not persecuted by society, but simply avoided by them.  Once in the early nineties, mutants became more widespread, and the growing population could not live in isolation anymore.  Although not as widespread in media coverage as today, societies all over the globe became aware of this small corner of the Earth's population welling up, and learned to ignore it.  Only when the mutants started to assert their superiority over people did anything really stir up.  Nobody wanted to know a thing until they themselves were affected by it.  His parents were simply part of this naïve sect in the world that was offended by the mutant presence.  Alerted to his unique condition, they promptly ignored the cries for help and kicked him to the curb.  Over the past sixteen years he had learned not to resent them so much as pity; love still existed, but it was more than tainted by fear of the unknown.  

Remembering with a tear of regret and angst, Hank ran his bloody finger over the cut glass in the frame.  Drops sank down the whisker thin hairs and sharpened nail, then seeped into the colour photo paper; their faces became stained red under his blue finger.  Ororo knocked at the broken door and stepped over a large strewn plank of wood.  Hank ignored her presence until she recognised his fragile state and came over.  Many thoughts welled in and around his mind; angry thoughts, violent prospects, but they were quelled, quieted and then replaced with sensitive memories driven home by his teary eyes.  If he wasn't careful, he might cry.  'I'm sorry Henry.'  She said sincerely, suddenly having to cradle his head as he wept.  His hand dropped the picture frame, discarding it amongst the splayed magazines.  Arms fell to his sides, and he cried into her shoulder as she crouched beside him.  

                                                *        *        *

A rainbow had spawned over the low-lying clouds while the sun peeked out from behind a veil of grey sky.  Water dripped off the tree branches and their leaves, plopping delicately into small puddles of muddy dark brown.  The rain had been so strong it had left behind a static air of charged energy that vibrated the entire Mansion grounds as Hank and Ororo stepped outside.  He had put on two large boots and a long dull green coat to walk among the gardens while Ororo simply went barefoot over the wet, springy grass.  Coming up to one o'clock in the afternoon both ignored the call for lunch and went silently around to the rear of the estate.  Perhaps Hank had purged his denial and anger in that one liberating cleanse, but whatever state he was in, Ororo was prepared to meet him on his own grounds.  He was walking with a face in the ground beneath his feet, whereas she observed the brightening skies and beautifully glowing life surrounding them.  

'I'm glad you came out today.'  

'I am too; maybe I just needed some fresh air to rid the tension.  I felt stuffy and much too worked up to be stuck in the labs.'  He replied, attempting a smile for the first time since being home again.  'I consider this my home, you know.'  He said.

'I know you do Hank.'  Ororo said enthusiastically.  

'I want you to be a part of it – I'm glad that you live here now.'  He continued, pouring honesty into the compliment.  

'Well I'm not going anywhere soon, Hank, love.  I'm staying right here – I knew this thing was too good to just throw in the gutter.'

'Is that what you were going to do then?'  He asked, suddenly suspicious.

'Of course not!'  Ororo laughed trying to calm him.  'I know our relationship is going to be better than doing that.  You agree?'

'Yes, yes.  Yes, I do.  I need your support right now; I need you to stand by me so I can figure out who I am once more.'  Hank said.

'You can have my support – I shall be your rock, on which you lean.'  Ororo turned to him, her kind eyes bright.  He nodded ever so slightly, fully understanding her resolve.  'You and I, we're the same now.'  He said.  Abruptly, he lunged and captured her lips in a rough uncompromising kiss.  She almost physically pulled away, but then thought to herself, and tried to kiss back.  Retracting at her sudden but small withdrawal, Hank moved off and stared at her through critical eyes.

There was a silence between them, and Ororo's face went straight.  She studied his features, considering her options in this most delicate of situations.  Were she to back off, he would surely be offended, so instead she moved against him once more, stepping in for another embrace, though this time not so sudden.  Imperceptibly Hank's eyes flared, and he knew she was accepting him after his silent but physical and forceful proposal.  She came closer and they kissed fully once more.  After a moment or so, he slowly brushed her hands away from his side and face, and then pushed her up against the Mansion's brick wall behind.  Pinning her arms in place, they proceeded to kiss each other passionately, letting love and anger filter through the lifted emotional cloak.

                                                *        *        *

'I think there has always been a reluctance to face the facts here.'  Hank started, sitting in Charles's office toward the end of the day.  The windows were open, allowing for the fresh cold air to bundle through any gaps while a small fire heated their legs.  Hank sat in the leather armchair, legs crossed and a glass of wine in one hand.  'What we do,' he continued, letting Charles acknowledge his answer 'no-one else could do.  I mean, we're an elite organisation that moves from one place to another, taking care of business with our powers.  Apart from a human militarily enforced solution, the X-Men are a unique bunch of individuals, created to do well in the world.  I'm grateful for being here – I am, and we've all just got to remember that life could be so much worse if things were to get on top.'

'Did things get on top of you for a while?'

'Things got on top of me for a while.  I nearly lost my head because I was so caught up in _why_ I had been traumatised.'

'Are they still on top of you?'

'Maybe, I don't really know.  I feel better – a lot better.'  Hank paused for a second, reflecting on his most recent experiences.  'There was catharsis among the chaos, Charles… Catharsis…'

'What do you think you've discovered?'

'That I'm jinxed!'  Hank laughed, brushing off the serious reality of his predicament.  'No, I'm not under a spell or anything – it was all random; every little piece that fit into the puzzle was arbitrary, and it just happened to come together badly.'  He shook his head.  'I'd like to say that I'm taking it all very well.'  Hank said, not proud in the least.             

'You seem alright with it.  You do.'

'Only on the outside; I feel pretty down in here though.'  He pointed to his chest and smiled despondently.  'But there comes a point in everyone's life, I think, where people are just ready to say: I am what I am, and whatever happens, happens.  I used to think that I had undergone that life-affirming incident years ago when my parents closed their doors to me, but now it feels like a new family has treated me to a new experience.'

'Do you mean that you blame us for what has happened to your body and mind?' 

'Well yes and no – of course in no offensive sense, because you know I'm not like that Charles.'  He stated with sincerity.  'Yes, because clearly if I had never got involved with the team then I never would have been caught by Weapon X and changed, but no, because something else just as bad could have happened to me even if I wasn't with the X-Men.  It's like a double-edged sword that you cannot wield.'

'Then do you ever feel that you might lose control of yourself among us?'

'An honest answer would be: doesn't everyone?'  Hank asked rhetorically.  'But to lose control entirely and lash out… mentally, it's possible for everyone – even you.  But physically?  It would only ever be like a fight in the family.  I don't want to hurt anyone here for what I've undergone, just like you wouldn't want to harm for the disability in your legs.'

'Perhaps a different question now – do you… would you resent a normal human being for their appearance, now that yours is altered and therefore perceived as peculiar?'

'Envious of a "normal" image?  You're looking at the wrong guy – I was always a fish out of water when it came to people.'  Hank chuckled at the phrase, finishing his wine.  'You already understand this, don't you…?'

'We're talking about you though, Hank.'

'Listen, I've been a freak all my life; plain and simple.  And now that I'm a blue furry freak, it makes no damn difference.  I'll never resent an individual who looks like everyone else in the world – same skin tone, same haircut, same eye colour – same person.  You know why?  'Cos a couple of hours ago I had sex with a woman that looks like a _supermodel_, and has a heart more glorious than a hunk of shining gold.  Maybe I didn't realise this at the beginning when I came back here, but I have something to be proud of.  So far, I have the love and support of a good girl, I have friends around me –who mean something to me.  Whatever the future holds Charlie, I'm prepared to face it head-on.'

'Do you feel any different from before the experience – in respect to your health I mean?'

'Well I guess I'm a little more drunk now than back then.'

There was a pause in the office while Charles scribbled several lines indifferently in Hank's psychological profile folder.  Placing it with the others on the desk, he wheeled over to the fire and helped down the rest of the wine bottle.


	3. the sins of a father

Writer: Rowland Wells

_Disclaimer:  I am in no way any part of Marvel Comics or any affiliation of their enterprise.  I do not own the X-Men or any Marvel Characters.  _

Alternate 

X-Men 

#14

"the sins of a father"

The long red bus pulled up outside a stop, the driver waiting for people to step in.  Old men and women ambled up the stairs, depositing change into the man's small monetary compartment.  Behind the group, Tessa was the last to get on.  The driver looked at her stunned, and she walked past without having paid him.  He nodded and smiled graciously as she then stopped her control over his mind.  The bus came away from the pavement and proceeded to head down the roads leading to New York City. 

Leaving Westchester behind on the half-hour long journey, Tessa closed her eyes wearily and tried to block out the noise of the engine.  Lately, with the entire hubbub around the Mansion, she had gotten considerably less sleep than normal, and the recent events hadn't added to the pattern she tried to sustain.  The builders arrived that morning to take control of the damage still present, and as the Professor was in the City, she had ordered and accommodated for them in his absence.  The head of the company had called her while the builders were busy, explaining that a further increase on the substantial insurance bill was required in order for the job to be completed.  She argued, but without exact knowledge of the reconstruction details, Tessa was not at liberty to put up much of a fight.  Charles was not answering his phone for some reason, so she decided to follow his path to the Village in Manhattan.  The time was half-past one, and all she had eaten so far today was a slice of toast.  She could get away with not eating a large dietary meal for breakfast only when training was not on the menu for that day, but otherwise Charles would insist that his students eat properly for a long day ahead.  Tessa regretted not eating anything else as her stomach shook its hunger.  

Leaning her head on the graffiti scarred window pane, straight raven black floods of hair dangling over her face, she only paid mild attention to the increasing activity outside as the bus veered into the city.  The weather was still cloudy from yesterday's early downpour and it didn't quite look like an American summer was about to blossom.  Cars floated down the broken tarmac roads beside the bus, packing more and more into tighter lanes of fuming, smoky grey traffic.  Glad to be living on the brighter more fruitful suburbs of New York's boundaries, Tessa thought about the area surrounding the estate's grounds.  Cliffs an acre or two behind the Mansion's back fell into the beginning of the Atlantic Ocean's coastline bays, and the thin runway that spread underneath the length of that wooded area opened out to the free air above the water margin.  

Being the first student to be enrolled at the school Tessa knew more about the building and grounds than anyone else, but instead of letting herself become the one student free of Xavier's tutored grasp, she now had the most responsibility among all of them.  She didn't mind that much; her function was part of a larger machine that worked the minds of these young kids in the family.  Tessa saw it as more of a school than an elite force, and she taught much of the sciences that Charles deemed necessary for them to be educated in.

Coming to a halt outside Central Park in Greenwich Village, Tessa wrenched herself from silent reverie and walked out to the park gates.  Quickly observing the fluidity with which people moved and worked in this colossal city, she had to marvel at how many of the residents existed so routinely; shoppers, restaurant-goers, office workers on a break, and everywhere people cycling or skating along the pavements.  For a moment it all seemed so mechanical, but she had to remind herself that if not for her unique trait then she might very well be one of these animals, parading insanely in a tight glass cage.  Forcing herself onwards, she headed up the small slope in the wide expanse of this small paradise amid towering skyscrapers.  Here is a little haven of normalcy, she thought.  Children tossed and turned in the wind, flying kites and hurling balls in the air.  Couples undeterred by what Tessa would consider to be bad weather, were out in the afternoon light enjoying each other's company, and all the while oblivious to the machine nature of everyone on the streets.  They were a part of it, and Tessa only realised because she was a virus to this swaying, sweating body of people.

She nearly walked into Charles's stationary form while staring at the Manhattan skyline.  He seemed stuck in thought, and showed as much surprise as she did.  'Professor, hi.'  She said.  'Why weren't you answering your phone?'  Charles turned away from his view of the rest of the park below, and looked at her.  'Not answering?  I guess I must have had it switched off.'  He suddenly realised where they were, and spoke up for concern.  'What's the matter?  I can sense you're worried about something.  What it is?'

'Nothing bad, the building organisers want to discuss the payment in-depth, but I said I wasn't in charge of the money.  You need to call them about that; and I came out here because I needed a break from the constant drilling that grates into your skull.  You can even hear it out in the gardens, which is why I bothered to travel.'

'Yes, it does get annoying after noticing it.'  He smiled, hoping that Tessa wouldn't pick up on any hidden sensations lurking just below his mind.  Unfortunately for him, she did.  'I know you said you would, but why did you come all the way out here?'

'Impulse journey… I wanted to get out just like you, so I thought that some fresh air and a trip to the city would clear my head.'  He replied instantly.  Ushering her slightly, his chair turned around and he started down the grassy slope.  'Are you feeling alright today?'  Charles enquired after talking with her yesterday.  'Every day gets better, really.  I guess I look a bit run-down, but that's a simple lack of sleep; nothing a good rest wouldn't cure.'  Tessa stared up at the sky, opening her weary eyes to let the light in.  She gazed around the various people in the park, under the trees and playing beside the small stream cutting the grassland in half.  She passed over a man standing on the bridge who looked vaguely familiar.  She thought nothing of it until Xavier looked at his watch and said: 'We'll be late for the next bus if we don't hurry soon.'

She found that remark strange, and turned a thought over in her mind.  'The bus leaves the Village in forty minutes time – you know that, Charles.'

He nodded but Tessa immediately sensed his anxiety lying just on the surface of his emotions.  'What are you so worried about?'  She asked, stopping with the small wooden bridge scarcely in view.

Still with his back to her, Charles set his defences down, and paused while she began to figure it out.  'You're not stupid my girl.'  He stated resignedly.

Her eyes fell back to the man on the bridge, his locks of greying hair splayed in the sudden blustering wind.  He held his jacket over one shoulder, and smiled idly at the sight before him.  There was something in his face and build that Tessa recognised; something grand.  A presence hung over the man almost like a shroud, and images flashed into her head.  'Oh my god,' she remarked flatly 'you must be joking.'

Charles sighed, and rubbed his temples.  'I'm not ashamed of what I did; after all, he and I were companions – friends – before destiny chose our separate paths.  He is a friend, if not just an opponent.'

'What the hell did you think you were doing?  Everybody thinks Magneto is dead.  It's been shown all over the tv – written up extensively… oh my god, Charles!'

'Magneto is dead, just as you say – when I used his body as a conductor and you all saw him vanish into the sky, I wiped his mind blank of everything I knew to be relevant to his alter ego.  Erik is the man that's left – Erik Lehnsherr.'

Tessa whirled on him in a fit of rising questions and confused anger.  Betrayal was at the top of her emotions, and she wasn't about to let her mentor escape without judgement.  'The man that's left?  He isn't some kind of Jekyll and Hyde fusion; they're one and the same person.  You didn't destroy his memories; you just shoved them to the back of his head!'

'Just calm down for a second will you?  He's not what he used to be – Tessa, I don't need to be explaining this to you, you're a telepath for goodness sake, you know the way in which it works.'  He replied, angrily.  Charles admitted to himself that maybe he had made a miscalculation, but as long as he maintained control then nothing could accumulate under the mistake and send it overboard.

'Damn right, I know how it works – what if,' she lowered her voice afraid to shout 'what if he starts to remember?  What if someone recognises him and he gets sent to prison, or executed for crimes to the state without even knowing why?  What if someone from his past triggers a memory or two, and Erik figures out that he's the head of one of the biggest movements history has ever witnessed?  How will you account for that fault in judgement?'  

'Keep your voice down for mercy's sake, people can hear…'  He tried to rationalise to her the concept of his forgiveness, but deep down Charles had already dissuaded himself from believing that Erik could be a new man.  'I understand everything you've just mentioned, but if I had let go of him on that fateful day, then the entire human world would be out for his blood.  I couldn't kill an old friend, even if he had a difference of opinion.'

'I can't believe how irrational you are being, Charles.'  She said condescendingly.  He nearly made to dispute her holier-than-thou approach, but relented for the information he now knew.  

His visits to see Erik had become more frequent since his placement among the people in Manhattan.  Charles helped to set him up with Wanda and Pietro's money, and then left him alone to find a life among the skyscrapers of New York.  Concerned for his well-being, Charles arranged for the two to meet in the Village sometimes, whereupon they discussed events from their past and reminisced about old times.  He might find himself watching for Erik in the park, just to study how the man's thoughts were functioning.  Lately though, Charles had become disturbed by the appearance of recent memories relating to Magneto's usurping of the Savage land, and his distressing assault on the countries of the world.  Perturbed by such information and its reaction to Erik's fragile mind, Charles had monitored his friend closely hoping that he might quell the memory before it incited total recall.  Fears, anxiety and thoughts of strength were floating at the back of Erik's conscious mind more and more, and unless Charles were to wipe his mind again, which would erase the short peaceful history just experienced, Magneto might rise from the ashes.  It would be an unmitigated catastrophe if he were to gain power once more.  Not only would Xavier's life be at stake as well as his students, but the entire planet could feel his wrathful revenge.   

'He is starting to remember.'  Charles explained simply.  Even with their hesitation for thoughts, the two X-Men knew the course of the conversation.  

'I don't know whether you did the right thing or not.'

'Yes – that seems to be the crux of the matter.  Have I done wrong or haven't I?'  He answered, feeling as lost as she.

                                                *        *        *

Approaching the detention block in SHIELD ground headquarters in Washington D.C, Val leapt down several flights of stairs, bounding with a sudden urgency that many of the armed Soldiers she passed found distracting.  Having raided the Captain's personal office computer files and paper documents, she had discovered the exact details pertaining to Hawk Spaskyich's sentence.  Currently the gruff, scarred Texan was situated in the basement detention cells, receiving regular but measly meals and looks of abhorrence from every guard walking through.  He was to be placed in habitual interrogation sessions, just to squeeze every last piece of information from him before being transferred to the orbital SHIELD space station.  Nick Fury was sure of his crimes, so any need to undergo a trial or court martial was deemed unnecessary.  Val hoped to at least encounter the man before his journey, so she had to be quick in sneaking through security and protocol.  Her status and identification would allow her access, but the principal itself was the worrying thing.  Many officers and the guards on duty might disallow entry for the sole reason that Spaskyich didn't deserve company.  

Whatever the reservations, she didn't have time to dwell on them.  Reaching the main hallway, she took several turns and registered her identification with a guard behind a glass wall.  She was let through into the detention block area, and walked by several men giving her strange looks.  She wasn't interested in their opinions; Spaskyich was a unique man among the many prisoners sent up to the station each month.  Val flashed a pass to the man patrolling the doorway, and then waited for several seconds outside the designated cell.  Peering through the window, she saw Spaskyich lying idly on the bunk, and wondered if he had anything to occupy him in such a claustrophobic environment.  It crossed her mind that he might not be so pleased at the prospect of meeting her, but Val wasn't about to let that interfere.  

She stood still for a few more seconds, watching as the double doors to the long room slid open and another large guard in black strode in.  He had tucked his scruffy tangles of fair hair underneath the rim of the cap, and his uniform seemed unusually tight and constrictive on his body compared to the other men.  She eyed him dubiously, and then looked at the rather excessive lock mechanism on Spaskyich's cell door.  She acknowledged the new arrival with a minimalist nod, and then let him stand by the door, almost blocking the view.  'Thanks for coming, Vic.'  She whispered.

He gave a nonchalant grunt, and then took off the gloves shielding his hairy hands.  Spaskyich looked up from inside his cell and gazed confused at the two just outside.  He yelled something inaudible while the lock turned and snapped open.  The Texan got up and stood at the back of his cell, nearly jumping out of his skin as the guard in black swiped the cap off the top of his hairy scalp.  Val stepped into the tight room as well, eyeing the man all over.  'Don't make a sound.'  She announced, producing a tiny syringe from the necklace hanging between her breasts.    

Spaskyich clearly couldn't grasp the nature of the confrontation and started to yell for the guards.  Fear etched across his brow, and every single hair stood on end.  He backed away carefully.  The pitter-patter of feet resounded in the hallway and guards rushed in even though Spaskyich was quiet now.  'He's not feeling right.'  Val explained, quickly hiding the empty syringe behind her back.  The men took one look at Hawk who had slumped wearily against the bunk, his balance quite off.  'Bullshit.'  They said; but before any one could make a move, Victor Creed rammed the lead against the wall and smacked the other two violently around the head.  All three guards fell to the floor while Mystique morphed from Val's disreputable image into one of the downed guards.  Spaskyich, who was not quite unconscious yet, tried to utter his disapproval, but was silenced as Sabretooth clapped a hefty hand over his mouth.  Mystique, as the lead guard, walked up through the hallway and past the man behind the glass pane.  With a finger near to the alarm button, Mystique knew she had to distract the guard long enough for Sabretooth to haul their bulky Texan rag doll through the doors.  Until they were on the ground floor, escape by tearing a hole in the wall was not an option lest they fancied digging a way out through metres of earth.  Sabretooth stood behind the opaque metal doors with Spaskyich in tow, hardly panting for fear of detection.  He waited until Mystique went past the guard, and then returned in the form of a sultry black-suited agent woman.  

'How are you doing?'  She asked the man, standing by the door to his booth.  He walked over and inspected the room straight in front, cautious of any mysterious activity.  'Which one of the guys sent you?'  He asked, grinning like an idiot.

'Why don't we talk about them later…'  She said, unzipping the front part of the black jacket and revealing more of herself to him.  

'Who am I gonna get to watch the floor?'  His voice held just the perfect amount of smugness and arrogance that Mystique knew he was engrossed.  He unlocked the booth door, letting her walk through the entrance.  With his back to the adjoining room, the man missed Sabretooth dragging Spaskyich in and then out of more doors.  His eyes caught sight of the action on the monitor screens behind, and in the middle of a furious kiss, he threw her off of him.  His hand landed on the alarm call button, and immediately the lighting within the halls switched to a deep crimson.  Mystique disposed of him, before busting out the booth in his guise and running after Sabretooth.  

As the lights suddenly switched, Victor knew the mission had been compromised.  Fortunately, he could escape through the wall directly in front of them – it lead through to a small side entrance that was used as a fire escape.  His powerful legs carried him rapidly toward the impediment, ready for the crashing impact that would arise from digging through the thick metal infrastructure.  Wolverine had done it before in the Weapon X installation, and now he would emulate the performance, only better.  To the left of him, and in the way of the wall, more SHIELD guards appeared; guns and riot prods at the ready.  Spaskyich was deposited on the floor while Sabretooth took the brunt of the guards attack, mustering the anger and energy of his fatal retaliation.  Mystique burst through the doors as Sabretooth gutted one of the guards and then dispatched the others.  He raked his thin claws across the dented metal wall, and dug at its obstruction.  After half a minute he managed to rip away part of the metal and tear a hole into the daylight.  'We don't have all damn day!'  She shouted, glancing at the entrances for more gun-totting psychopathic men in black.  Making a bigger gap, the feral mutant then climbed out into the side entrance and helped Mystique carry a delirious Spaskyich out.  The shape-shifting enchantress assimilated the form of another SHIELD soldier and she ran out into the road just ahead, cordoning off an area for a large car to pull into.  The doors of the vehicle were flung open, and Sabretooth packed their prisoner in, and then sat opposite the driver.  'Move it!'  He shouted before Mystique bundled herself in, and the car lurched onto the road.  It sped away while the building went up in a hail of panic.

                                                *        *        *

Arriving back at the Mansion, Tessa was still angry with Charles's decision.  She assumed it had never dawned on him that Erik would start to recall all the events, because the man had unusually high brainpower without being a telepath.  It had taken great effort to bring Erik to his knees in the first place, almost getting Piotr and Logan killed in the process, not to mention the entire presidential cabinet and the leader of the country as well.  However one looked at the situation, it appeared fraught with danger.  Still, there was nothing she could do about it now; Charles had confirmed his choice even no-one else concurred, and Tessa was in no position to quarrel.   Things were returning to a state of normality – their home was being rebuilt from devastation, and the students themselves had come through the ordeal alive and well.  She couldn't speak for everyone, but whatever didn't kill her, made her stronger.  Right now, Tessa estimated that she must have been feeling _very strong.  _

The memories from Weapon X still lingered, and at times she had nightmares about the barbarity witnessed there.  Such a place had become a torture chamber fit only for the downfall of society, but the irony was that the mutants themselves were considered to be part of it.  They weren't required to adapt to the conditions set within Spaskyich's bizarre domain, they were supposed to integrate themselves to a predisposed environment.  It was almost as if the man believed that a mutant's lot in life existed around base human servitude.  Equality in one man's dominion was the hardest task to achieve as a person could only create as was defined by their personality.

Deciding to leave these morbid thoughts behind, Tessa stepped into the lobby and wondered at the unusual silence echoing in and out of the building.  The workmen must be on a break, she assumed correctly.  Her travels brought her through to the ground floor monitoring station.  It was a small room, fit only for standing in the doorway and watching the bank of screens carefully for cctv activity in and out of the estate.  Just inside the doorway though, was an empty shotgun with the keys to a tiny safe next to the screens.  Put specifically for safety measures, Tessa hoped they would never have to defend themselves with such a weapon again.  Scott and Jean swam lazily in the indoor pool, and Tessa found herself feeling glad at their pursued relationship.  From what she had seen the two were not a couple yet due to Scott's procrastination, but after Logan's dealings with the both of them, Jean was warming to him once more.  Tessa glanced at the other panning cctv camera screens and saw the rest of the students engaged in a rather furious table tennis tournament in the conservatory.

She went up to her room on the second floor which she sometimes shared with Jean, but on the way became distracted by the bustling sound of material coming from across the balcony.  Walking into the men's dormitory corridor, she entered the first room and saw Piotr stuffing his suitcases with belongings.  Somehow in the sway of excitement shown on camera she had missed him.  He was hurrying; shoving clothes, bits and pieces into every empty crevice in the bags.  'What's going on here?'  She asked leaning on the door frame.  The big man faced her with a graven expression stained on his chiselled features.  'I'm leaving – I have to go back home.'  He said, zipping up a case and tossing it onto the bed sheets.

'This is a bit sudden…'  Tessa responded, going into the room and toying with several of his possessions still lying around.  'Why exactly?'

'It's none of your business.'  Piotr clunked more cases onto the bed, full, and checked the room once over.

'Did you get a phone call?  Shouldn't you check with the Professor first?  I mean we don't want to get rid of you.'  She stepped behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder.  'Have you told Kitty?  She kind of likes you.'

'No!  Look, I haven't got time to deal with anyone else here – just let me go in peace.'

'Can't you give me any explanation?'  She enquired, searching for something to postpone his exit.  He plucked his heavy bags up in large hands and ambled out of the entrance, storming down the hallway.  'It'll be the first death in our family!'  She shouted in anger.  Any last attempts for his restraint vanished, so using harsh language was her last resort.

'I already have a family!'  He replied.  

Tessa bounded down the stairs after him and ran to get the others before he departed.  When his entourage finally accumulated in the lobby, Piotr had taken a cab straight to the airport and left nothing behind.  

                                                *        *        *

Moving his chair slowly behind the crowds of people ducking in and out of the plaza shops, Charles talked to his acquaintances while choosing his words carefully.  Even though they were aiming to get to a secluded corner of the mall, Charles had to make sure he kept his voice low.  Mention of Magneto's name could get anybody's ears to perk up, and he could never really tell how people were going to react.  Pietro and Wanda were with him, contacted through a cell phone number left by the speedy mutant when he was taken back with the students.  His act of bravery had allowed for Magneto's downfall, and without the intervention, the master of magnetism could surely have eradicated the entire city of Washington D.C.  Still living in fear of his father, Pietro felt guided by his sister, Wanda, and her leadership.  Although they had left Magneto's followers, both still saw their father regularly since his relocation, but never conformed to anything else.  As far as the Maximoff children were concerned, they played no more part in the world's politics.

Charles was glad that they had the sense to steer clear of any more influence as together they became quite formidable.  He felt it was only right that Erik now had no hold on them.  He did, however, understand it was his duty to inform them of the recent disturbances he could feel.  'I'm not sure where this will lead to, but I can certainly feel strong emotions bubbling up through his mind.  I can't tell whether they have started to affect him yet, or whether they actually will, but it's something to be cautious of.'  He observed the twins while they came to rest on a bench in a much quieter part of the plaza.  'I'd be sorry if I had to destroy his mind once more – it doesn't seem right.'

'Perhaps we should get him out of the city… take him to another much more private area in the country.'  Wanda suggested.  She wrapped the long purple coat around herself, the wind beginning to pick up in the open-air mall.  'After all, it might be the atmosphere that's provoking these passionate flares in his memory.'

'As I said, I don't know whether they are penetrating his waking thoughts yet – it could just be nightmares.'  Charles replied, rubbing his temples.  Not only was it confusing Erik, but him too.

'Bad dreams are usually an indication of recent events or feelings.'  Pietro said, watching the crowd.  'If he tries to interpret any of them, it could lead to triggering all the events trapped in his mind.  If that were to happen, only the inevitable, terrible truth would arise.'

'What would be worse was if his memories are altered from the experience, and our father can't quite recall everything properly.  He could blame us, or you, Charles or even the entire world!'  Wanda exclaimed.  She got up and walked to the tip of the milling people, almost expecting the descent of a solution upon them.  'How are we supposed to combat his anger then?'  She posed to Pietro.  He shook his head despairingly, and stared at Charles.  

'Are you suggesting another attempt at destroying his mind?'  The Professor asked, swivelling on his chair.

'How much time do you think we have left with the real Erik?'

'It's too difficult to tell – do you want to see him before I do it?'  Charles replied.  The two defeated siblings agreed, and then turned the option down.  'I think it might be too painful.  I don't want to see him and then have him forget that I was there… It's not right.'  Pietro said.  'God!'

'Then right away, I suppose.'  Charles stated, gazing at the ground.  This option was hardly his first choice, but if it was the difference between amity and hostility, then he was willing to make the sacrifice.  'There will be large parts of his memory missing, just like before.  He won't be able to access them consciously, but they will still exist in his subconscious.  Again,' he continued, laying down the law 'it is not one hundred percent effective – the time might arrive when we have to make this choice again.  It won't be any easier.'

A thought struck Wanda, and she managed to voice it before they concluded the meeting.  'What if you were to alter his memories – change the bad ones into good; wouldn't that work?'

'Doing such a task is even more hazardous to his already fragile mind.  It might work, but then he could have a nervous breakdown if nothing made complete sense.  Discontinuity would exist everywhere, and it might end up that I have to alter his entire mind – then, he wouldn't be the man you know.'

'If it's like that, then we might as well get him a lobotomy.'  Pietro answered.  'No; this is the way it must be done.  You and I, Wanda, we can see him afterwards and explain he had some kind of a stroke or something… I'm not sure, but we can decide what to tell him.'

'It will be tough-going, but you always have my number for advice.'  Xavier placed both hands on Wanda's outstretched palm.  'I'll do it tomorrow morning, and then have him placed in the best hospital in upstate New York.  You can then arrive as relatives and take him with you.  Any medication they prescribe – just throw it away, or decline.'

As the three departed, and Charles went off into the crowd of shoppers, Wanda and Pietro were left to walk alone.  'It's funny almost,' Pietro exclaimed, chuckling in spite of the pang of guilt hanging over him 'our father would never admit his ignorance is bliss.'

                                                *        *        *

Fabian Cortez stood atop the small hill in the heart of Central Park.  He was alone; save for the comforting bluster of wind that reminded him of what it was to be free.  It slapped his long fair around his cheeks before he tired and trussed it up in a ponytail behind.  The weather outside was dreary, much like the atmosphere within the city and he longed to be back in the sunshine, basking like a lizard as it warmed his cold blood.  Narrow eyes scoured the surrounding grassland below, surveying the contents with great contempt.  Much like Tessa had felt earlier but merely more extreme, Cortez detested normal people.  They appeared as cattle to him, fit only for herding and slaughter.  He had come to Magneto as part of a rebel faction of Mutant Terrorism.  Along with his sister, Anne Marie, they had banded together with an army Sergeant Harry Delgado, and several other men, one known simply as Chrome.  Deciding to hone their skills so that they might serve a higher cause, Fabian eventually found Magneto and persuaded the others to join.  In a fight to secure their safety among the Savage land peoples, the Acolytes were hounded by SHIELD soldiers whom they had stolen several boats off.  In the process of their egression from humanity, SHIELD destroyed several accompanying ships that carried other Acolytes, and Cortez was the only man left strong enough to lead.  Before the two fighting forces even came close to the Savage land's coasts, Magneto himself entered the area and took apart ships.  Their lord's original intention was to abandon the two forces to drown, but through pleading, Cortez managed to gain access to the hidden territory.  

Once both sides were released in Magneto's fortress, the SHIELD agents tried to kill Delgado and his personal force for his disbanding.  Anne Marie was caught in the cross-fire, and nearly died in Magneto's arms.  Through sudden anger at the futile attempts to engage each other in his dominion, the lord killed the agents, and allowed for Cortez to heal his sister.  The remaining mutant terrorists pledged themselves to his cause, and were set up to protect and serve their master.  Soon after, through a tangled series of events, many of the Acolytes were captured by genetic researchers who were revealed to be linked with Weapon X.  Although Magneto had no interest in such an operation or its objectives, he took revenge on the scientists and their installation in the West Siberian Plains by levelling the entire locale.  Grateful for their freedom once more, Cortez stood by Magneto as he progressed to demand of the world.  

After the brutal and uncompromising assault on the Savage land, Cortez usurped control over the small empire, and began to have it rebuilt.  The Sentinels had been disposed of, and even in Magneto's absence, Fabian knew that the land could forever be a haven for those who wanted freedom from abuse.  Somehow, the society escaped punishment for its potential criminal harbouring because their benevolent dictator was brought to justice, but as Cortez estimated, it would only be a matter of time before the land ignited once more and the fire of retribution scorched the free world.  He would ensure that justice was wrought upon those who wronged him and the rationalized cause.  The only way such a resurrection could take place though, was if his lord remembered; were Magneto to rise from the ashes, he could surely bring the world to its knees without mercy this time.

Determined to seal his fate, Cortez made a way down the grassy slope and toward the wooden bridge.  Leaves flew in the wind, and then danced around him as he waited on the crossing.  The faint trickle of water gurgled below, and he stared down into the murky depths.  Holding his ponytail hair out of the way, he spat into the dark water, and then looked up as footsteps clunked over the first few parts of the bridge.  Cortez's eyes widened in recognition, and his excitement flared inside, before he contained it.  The man appeared just the same as before, but an aura of peace blinked out from the eyes; he was almost resting among these people – satisfied with a life such as this.  Cortez swallowed his exasperation, and gave a toothy grin to his former lord.  Behind _his thin, dark eyes lay a disturbing truth, but it wasn't about to reveal itself for everyone else to realise.  'Mr Lehnsherr?'  _

Erik stopped just beside the man.

'I have something to speak to you about.  You… may not remember me – we have met once before I think.  Here.'  Cortez extended his hand from the jacket and shook Erik's ominously.  'I want to discuss your past.  Please come with me.'  Fabian snuck an arm around the puzzled man's shoulders and slowly pulled them across the bridge.  As the wind fluttered angrily through the park, the two men disappeared.


	4. safety in numbers

Writer: Rowland Wells

_Disclaimer:  I am in no way any part of Marvel Comics or any affiliation of their enterprise.  I do not own the X-Men or any Marvel Characters.  _

Alternate 

X-Men 

#15

"safety in numbers"

Professor Xavier was not best pleased with Piotr's abrupt departure.  He had left nothing to indicate his destination, and cleared out all the belongings in the dormitory room.  From what he had said to Tessa right before he left, she got the impression that he was returning to either his relatives or immediate family in Moscow.  Using her advanced senses she had been able to delve into his open mind somewhat, and it was abundantly clear of his strong emotions toward the family situation.  What he was involved in exactly was unclear, as Piotr had left when Tessa was reading his surface thoughts, but she relayed the information to Charles once he came back from the plaza.  The next day he chose to look at the files on the Mansion computer, hoping that some suggestion as to why would crop up.  After a small session in the office with Tessa, the two ascertained that he must have been heading back to Moscow to meet with his cousin's relatives.  

Piotr had been propositioned by Xavier when his cousin, Andreyev attempted an exchange in an abandoned New Jersey airstrip.  The Russian arms dealers group had been ambushed by the Arab businessmen, and only Piotr was left standing while his entire team was killed.  Andreyev had been prepared to sell a non-commissioned nuclear bomb to the Arabs, but they double-crossed them, and left with the merchandise.  Then what Ahmed did with the weapon, Piotr never found out.  In the end, the Russian survived the tragedy to his family and his pride by joining the X-Men.  This unexpected exodus was infuriating to say the least, as none of them knew wholly why, but Charles was going to find the reason.  Even though enough circumstances were rising with Erik's memory here in New York, the Professor understood that he must maintain the family.  Having Piotr leave would not only damage Charles's faith in him, but also unbalance the student body.  He felt that if Piotr had explained to him the reasons, then perhaps he wouldn't have to investigate himself.  

As he was staying in the Mansion that day, Charles called a meeting among the people.  It seemed strange not to have the tallest member standing at the back, and so he felt even more impelled.  'You know that Piotr left yesterday afternoon, and without his presence the team is going to suffer; but I believe that we can persevere even without his assistance.'

'What about him as a person?'  Kitty asked, sitting at the front of the group in Charles's large office.

'Well, yes – that's why I'm asking the two senior members to spare some time in locating him.  I assume that by now Piotr is already somewhere in Moscow, and if we have any chance of finding him unscathed from internal affairs, then we must act quickly.  Scott, Jean – I'm asking the two of you if you might help us.'

The two nodded, but Kitty interjected their little understanding.  'Let me go too, Professor.  Piotr needs me there as a friend.'

Charles shook his head solemnly, and settled her.  'I can only allow for those two to go, because the rest of you need to maintain training and education standards.  Tessa has to stay here with myself and Hank – you have to persist with your training.'

'What about me?'  Warren asked, sitting at the back of the group.  Betsy slapped his arm grinning.  'You've already had a holiday if you don't remember…'

Charles waved his hand at the group sincerely.  'I'm sorry that any of you have to be involved in this – I'm not happy with Piotr's actions at all.'  He surveyed the expressions on the student's faces, and then dismissed them.  Watching Kitty just briefly before she exited, Charles noted her unhappiness and the defeated quality weighing on both shoulders.  Affirming his preference, he called his two investigators over.  Jean plucked the file from his offering hands, and flipped it open.  'I can't believe he would just vanish for no reason.'  She said reading over the notes.

'There is an explanation – he's either visiting Moscow or returning due to family problems.  Once you two get there, I'm hoping you, Jean, can locate his unique brainwaves through telepathic capabilities and then track him down.  Whatever he describes to you, lay the concept on the ground: he doesn't have to be a part of our lives anymore if he doesn't want to, but if we can assist in any way, then do.'  Charles turned his chair around to face the world outside his window.  'Make sure he understands that he's welcome back again.'

The two students looked at each other quickly.  'How do we get there?'  Scott enquired.

'Get packing – I've called a taxi, and you're on your way to the airport in several hours.  Hopefully there should be a hotel in the city that you can stay at if anything else occurs – get Tessa to issue some money from our travel expenses prior to leaving.'

                                                *        *        *        

Swiftly driving from the Mansion and then flying over the airport in New York, the two students barely had time to pack everything.  Their flight had been relatively long, as both were used to the rather more rapid Blackbird, but in-flight movies and snacks aboard had helped to pass the time.  Many people had been travelling to Moscow – American holiday-goers, businessmen and women, Russian visitors to New York returning, and so on.  Once the airplane came to a bumpy touchdown that nearly dislodged the overhead compartments in its unevenness, everyone got off, and Scott and Jean collected their small amount of luggage.  Standing awkwardly outside the huge building, unique in its new-age economy construction with hundreds of people darting in and out among the Russian summer winds, Scott asked the redhead whether she could already detect Piotr's presence near.  Of course she expected not to be able to; telepathy was the ability to read other people's surface thoughts, impressions and feelings, but only within a certain short-range space.  Jean contrasted the ability to that of Scott's hearing.  If Piotr were within shouting distance then she could feel his mind open to the world around him, but especially _his_ mind on a much more powerful frequency than everyone else in the same locale, because Jean was familiar with his particular brainwave pattern.  What neither of them expected though, was for Jean to actually sense him near.  Moscow was one of the biggest cities in the world, and Piotr could have been anywhere in it.  

Fortunately, the two were so stirred with the reception, that Jean quickly tugged a bewildered Scott after her as she paced in the direction of his signal.  'What are the odds?'  She wondered excitedly.  

                                                *        *        *

When they got to where Jean had sensed him last, Piotr had disappeared.  They stood now in a large bank on the rich main street near the airport.  Businessmen, economists and bankers patrolled the marbled floors swept so meticulously clean; Scott could see his bespectacled reflection in them.  Feeling at a loss suddenly, Jean's body slumped, and she sighed.  'I guess we've lost him.'  She turned to Scott, who was scratching his short hair.  'Not entirely…'  He said staring up at the cameras embedded in the fine architecture of this grand building.  Still holding his one stocky suitcase, he dragged Jean to the desk clerk sitting behind a glass panel.  'Do you speak English?'  He asked the woman.  

'A little.'  

'Can you ask everyone behind those counters if they've just talked to a man looking like this?'  Scott held aloft a passport sized photograph of Piotr for her to see, and then passed it under the counter.  He turned back to Jean, smiling.  'I think we're already on a lead here.'  She raised an eyebrow, still slightly unsure as to their progress.

The woman behind the glass panel replied enthusiastically.  'Yes – he was here now.  He has gone, sir.'

'What did he want exactly?'  Jean pulled herself in close to the counter, trying to influence the woman's thoughts.

'I not allowed to say – so sorry.'

'You _are_ allowed to tell us.  We're family.'  Jean stated again, enforcing the idea in the woman's mind once again.  What she was doing was unethical, and not always what she believed in.  Usually, Jean would ask if she could read a person's thoughts, but they might not have had too much time to spend if Piotr was getting away.  The woman perked up immediately, and then spoke in fluent English to them.  'He arrived to withdraw the entire deposit of eleven thousand roubles in his family-named account.  Then he left seventeen minutes ago.'  

Jean relinquished her hold on the woman, and the two students walked out of the bank.  Holding up the picture of Piotr once again, they flashed it to several of the men and women milling about the bank entrance.  Finally settling on a grizzly old man selling food through a vending stall to the side of the building, Jean walked up to him and gave him a once over.  'He must have seen what happened – he's been standing there for ages.  I'll do the talking.'  She indicated.

After obtaining the vague information from the street seller through Jean's telepathy once more, the two decided to take a taxi to the outskirts of Moscow and sleep in a cheap hotel for the night.  From the details the man had given, it was clear that Piotr had headed for a town in between the capital and Podolsk, a smaller city just south south-west of Moscow's enormous perimeter.  Placing the small luggage in the car boot, they got in and specified for the driver their required hotel.  Tired, hungry, and desperate to escape the alien nation of unseasonable cold and damp, they walked up to the newly acquired room for some rest.  

                                                *        *        *

Placing room keys on a bedside table separating the two areas, Scott fished about in his suitcase for night clothes.  Although it was a relatively early evening for both teenagers, their flight had got in at four o'clock, and they had spent the first two hours escaping the main city structure.  After depositing luggage and belongings in the hotel room, food was on the menu, so they looked for a small restaurant near the hotel and ate before taking a stroll amid the twinkling night lights of suburban Moscow.  The cold was penetrating to their sun-kissed American skin, but added to the ambience of a romantic north Asian atmosphere, it managed to create quite a subtle freedom.  Paper bags, leaves and lost rubbish jangled and rustled in the creeping wind while a new moon illuminated their path with startling intimacy.  They walked arm in arm for a while, making it once over the bridge that crossed the extended southern river until exhaustion dawned, and they decided to call it a night.  

Getting into the hotel room, Jean asked to use the tiny porcelain bathtub before anything else, so Scott made to organise himself for their departure tomorrow.  He pulled on a shirt and some tracksuit trousers, definitely attentive to the inherent cold surrounding the country.  Sounds from the bathroom awoke his consideration, and Scott lay down on the thick covers, thinking of his relationship with the girl just ten feet away.  He took off his ruby glasses and rubbed closed eyes.  

Jean lay in the cramped bath, oblivious to the small crunching ache such a stance was putting her in.  She took the soap in hand and ran it over her perfect skin, just scratching at bumps and cuts embedded from previous excursions into the world of the X-Men.  She sank lower into the tub, and placed her head under the water's plane.  Rising once more, the dripping water cascaded over her short cut red hair and dribbled over her naked body.  She then picked up her sponge and proceeded to lather it fully.  The rough-surfaced material rubbed over her arms and legs; but she did it all unconsciously.  Jean was dwelling on the nineteen year old in the next room getting ready for their trip the day after.  Her relationship with Scott had started when they met on Xavier's first introductory tour of the Mansion grounds.  The only other mutant he had associated at that time was Tessa, and Jean was recruited once her powers had started to thrash out of her control.  Her abilities had first manifested at age eleven, and distraught parents aimed for Xavier's advice on their growing daughter's problem.  At that time Charles was able to dampen the telepathic flares throwing the girl off-balance, but after watching a close friend die in a car crash at age fifteen, nothing could stop the evolving process.  Since that time, Jean had been able to keep from the public eye, even trying so hard as to dissuade her parents from questioning if anything was the matter anymore.  After several freak accidents, the last of which she had no means of explaining, her parents came into contact with the Professor once again.  Charles quickly snapped up the chance to gain another student, and then in the snowballing process, received Scott, Warren and finally Hank.  

Scott had come to the institution through a series of distressing events, finally allowing himself to return to a state of relative stability.  In his younger age, a proud father took his family out in an airplane trip over the Pacific Ocean's waters.  During a freak and unprecedented storm, the plane was caught up in a haze of pouring rain and lightening.  Once hit, his father gave the only parachute on board to his oldest son Scott, and made sure he was to keep hold of Alex, his brother.  While Alex touched down perfectly, the older brother was left with minor injuries that eventually impacted on his brain.  Because the results of the damage did not immediately affect him, Scott was soon introduced into an orphanage and the brothers were split up.  Although Jean knew that Scott saw Alex at times, she wished that they would get together a lot more, as the school was the only family he really had now.  She already understood that she had great feelings for him, because they had been through so much together.  He felt the same way, but it was up to him to make the first move within their relationship, as Jean sensed her acting on it might scare him off after what had happened with Logan.  Scott was a sensitive person for his age, and having been through so much, Jean could identify with that more than any girl; but she was about to pick flower petals off wondering whether or not he loved her.  Personally, Jean was content in the fact that he at least stood by her, and cared for her.  As long as he existed with her, she wasn't about to force them into anything.  She knew that Scott loved her, but their companionship was enough – and even if he didn't believe that, she would be comfortable with anything else.  Scott had been there for her through their experiences at Weapon X, and she could tell by the way he was protective of her – defensive of her – jealous of what she had with Logan that he wanted her, and needed her to be a part of the institution.  She had to exist to be a part of him; otherwise he would not be himself.  

From the beginning, everyone knew a heightened bond existed between the two.  Warren courted her before Scott made any apparent moves, but the winged millionaire lost out due to a blatant attraction for his friendly rival.  Bowing out, Warren simply waited along with the others for something to happen.  They had of course kissed many times, but only with the emotion of the situation – never in such passion as to warrant the flicker of romance.  Jean was well aware of the whole situation, but unlike Scott, she was happy to let it stand until his first attempt.  As soon as he should ask, she would say yes; the only problem was that she thought he was not likely to ask in the near future.  

A turn of the bathroom door handle clicked against the frame, and it opened casually.  Shaken from her daydreaming idleness, Jean floundered in the water and leant over to conceal herself.  'Scott!  What're you doing?'  She shouted, embarrassed.

The door wavered suddenly, and he stepped outside.  'Damn, sorry – you were just so long, and I couldn't hear anything so I forgot – my fault!'  He nearly shut the door.  

'Hang on –' she called, stopping the entrance with her mind 'are you wearing your glasses?'

He wondered if that really mattered, thinking that she should have asked him what he wanted instead.  'No.'  He said, still leaning against the door.

'Well then I guess you can come on in…'  She said, drawing a leg up to soap it as she lay back.  Scott stepped in, very aware of the cold tiles beneath his bare feet.  The air hung heavy with heated moisture; it clung damply to his forehead and exposed chest, but he assumed that was partly due to nervous perspiration.  Without his ruby quartz glasses on to protect against the hazard from his eyes, he had to close them, and was therefore blind.  He trusted his other four senses to make up for the lack, and navigated his way around the extremely cramped bathroom.  

Jean watched him bend over for the fumbled toothbrush and opened her mind up to his.  Although concealing her presence from his, it was quite obvious what he was thinking.  She was to blame as well, partly because she knew full well he was in the mood.  Deciding to flash a split-second image of what she herself could see into his mind, she grinned as Scott fumbled the toothbrush and mug into the sink.  'Are you having trouble concentrating?'  She asked, sounding perfectly sincere in his ears.

'No – I just lost my grip on it for a second.  I'll be out of here in a minute.'  He started his ablutions while she rinsed the soap off her body, and then rose to step out.  Grasping the towel tightly around herself; she stepped onto the cold tiles and the sensation made her spring off the floor.  Jean steadied herself with two wet hands on Scott's back, and he straightened after finishing in the sink.  She giggled slightly and rubbed the warm, damp impressions off his skin with the palm of her hand.  'Let me get those.'

He shivered almost imperceptibly and then turned to face her, his eyes still closed.  Jean gazed into his face, studying closely the fine-shaven stubble inching its way back, the defined jaw and short hair.  There was a silence in the room louder than either of them had ever heard before.  After a moment, Scott turned his head away and held a hand out for the door.  Sensing a great disappointment, she bowed her head and shut the door behind him.  Dropping the towel around her back with only one hand to support it, she reached for her underwear.  The door blustered open and she turned her head.  Scott now looked at her with his glasses, half naked in front of him.  Jean opened her mouth to speak, but he made the distance between them and took her in a kiss.  Taken aback with his sudden and unexpected actions, she stopped after the first embrace and recoiled.  'What did you just do to me?'  She asked, not quite hearing her own words.

He leant in again and captured her soft red lips once more.  Succumbing finally to the intense passion flaring out of him, she dropped the clothes in one hand to wrap it around his neck.  Standing on tiptoes, she then let go of the towel and placed the other arm around too.

He backed them both against the cold wall and she squirmed against the loss of heat, moaning into his open mouth abruptly.  Scott grasped her back in between furious kisses, snaking his hands further down until she felt supported enough to entwine her long legs behind his waist.  

                                                *        *        *

By the morning, the towel was thoroughly soaked through with cloudy bathwater and neither felt like cleaning up in there.  Climbing out from under the thick covers of Scott's bed, Jean brushed herself down; running a hand through her short hair and rubbing the sleep from her eyes.  She stretched, and quickly pulled on some scattered clothes.  Deciding to avoid the bathroom altogether, she closed the door and proceeded to tidy the dirty carpet.  Even though her body felt lifted from stress, a weight hung heavy on her mind.  She had broken a barrier that perhaps they had both not been ready to cross and Jean only hoped that they could recover without any awkwardness.  Placing the discarded clothes in her suitcase, she sat on her untouched bed and stared across at him, lying half-asleep with only a contented smile on his body.  I hope he still feels the same way when he wakes up, she thought neurotically.  He was more than a close friend now, and the fact that he had been so intimate had not perturbed her, she was just a little scared by how readily he had broken down the walls.  Scott had made more than an effort, and Jean was surprised that he was so eager and so prepared to be a part of that aspect of their relationship.  As she stared at him, he finally stirred and rolled over.  Instinctively he knew she was watching him.  'Hi.'  He smiled.  This was what I wanted, she thought.

The warmth in his voice enlivened her, and she kneeled by his bedside.  'Did we do the right thing?'  She asked, needing his conformation to feel comfortable with their bold actions.

'Damn straight.'  Scott confirmed.  He pulled on his ruby-red glasses and looked down at her beautiful face.  'Are you okay with that?'

It took her a little time to consider what they were letting themselves in for.  It wasn't as if either of them were heading anywhere – after everything they had been through, they were now closer than ever.  'Yes I am.'  Jean stroked his cheek lovingly, and leant in to kiss him.  He laughed quietly as her hot breath tickled his lips, but soon kissed back.  Tugging on her shoulder slightly, he pulled her towards him, indicating his desire.  'We need to get off to a start…'  Her voice trailed off as she straddled his body under the covers and then proceeded to undress herself once more.

                                                *        *        *

'This is far enough – I have other people.'  The Russian taxi driver exclaimed annoyingly from the front of the vehicle.  He ushered the two teenagers out of the back seats, and accepted the sum delivered.  'Can you at least tell us where he's likely to be?'  Scott asked, leaning in the window.  

'How I supposed to know?'  The driver replied, stepping on the accelerator.

As the taxi sped off into the distance, Jean and Scott found themselves in the centre of the small town.  Buildings glimmered with morning dew, still present for the irrational cold even though the radiant sun shone through the clouds.  Birds twittered and chased each other high above the tree tops of the surrounding forest canopy.  They were still in Russian territory, but the town seemed so much more idyllic for the rustic character shining out than Moscow's post-industrial lingering grey gloom.  Cars passed them by on the small roads displaying just the perfect level of a metropolis association without dwelling on the claustrophobic, musty and cold nature than satisfied Moscow residents.  The two gazed about the town, ready to lose themselves in even its minimal structure, when Piotr completed their task by presenting himself.  Surprised as he was to see them, the burly Russian invited both back to his address before any explanation came out.

                                                *        *        *

'I got a call from my family here;' Piotr started, boiling the kettle on the stove while he presented Scott and Jean with some small offerings of homemade soup 'they described how after my cousin, Andreyev, died at the airstrip in New Jersey without receiving any money for his arms trade, the boss in charge of the operations came to see this family.'  Piotr took the kettle off and poured some tea, then handed it out to the other two.  They sat in the kitchen of his aunt's house with a low wooden roof over their heads.  Near to lunch time, they attempted to eat, but with little in the house at the moment Piotr had nothing substantial.  'Andreyev was a man guided by an officer in one of the Moscow mob groups – they dealt in many different areas of black-market goods such as illegal alcohol, cigarettes, drugs, especially heroin, guns and even larger arms.'  He raised his arms justifying his speech.  'I'm not proud of what I was – working for Andreyev, it was nothing special, but it helped me gain a little extra money on the side of my job.'

'What exactly happened?'  Jean asked him.

'When the boss called down the line for an old armament we had in stock for many months to be delivered, Andreyev was put in charge.  I was part of his group, yet none of them new of my mutation – I was simply the brawn of the business.'

'You're quite intelligent though man.'  Scott said.

'I know,' Piotr admitted, chuckling 'but they didn't.  During the delivery, this backstabbing Arab trader double-crossed us, and killed everyone there.  They took the weapon, and left nothing but paper for money.  Too scared to return for fear of the mob, I joined with Xavier and arrived in New York.  What I did was cowardly – I admit that; but to ask my cousin's family if they will reimburse the gangsters for money now lost on buying the weapon in the first place?  That's wrong.  I took out all the roubles I had left in my account – over eleven thousand and I will give them that.  If any more is required, then I will work off the debt.  My last kind gesture to my foolish cousin – [_it will be this_].'

Scott cleared his throat awkwardly then finished his tea.  'I hate to rain on your parade, but a nuclear weapon [_as I take it_] costs a lot more than a simple eleven thousand.'

'It's all I have!  There's no way I am allowing those bastards to take it out on an innocent family.'  Piotr replied angrily.  

'You cannot work off a debt like that – you'd never come back into our lives.  It's ridiculous…'  Jean stated, noticing his stoic condition.

'The process is easy – I work for them by being a mutant.  They can never take advantage of me, and all that then happens is that I accumulate enough money.  Once they realise I only did it to relieve the pressure on my family, they can let me go.  These men are not idiots.'

'Yeah but they are criminals – if they think they can exploit you, Piotr, then they will; to the very end.'  Scott responded, not quite comprehending the Russian's sense of the situation.

'If not that,' Piotr stood up and banged their empty mugs into the sink, frustrated 'then what do you suggest?'

'Take that money and use it to relocate your family to somewhere else; the U.S for instance.'  

'I cannot do that; they will not want to leave.'  He replied flatly, head in hands.

'How do you know?  Have you asked them?'  Scott said.

'They don't want to leave!'  Piotr exploded, smacking his hand on the porcelain sink exterior.  'Look, just get out the both of you… I don't know what you thought you could achieve by visiting me, but it won't work.  I have more important things to worry about besides gallivanting off to some foreign land and waging war with something that shouldn't concern me!'

'What the hell are you on about – we came to ask you back!'  Scott retorted.

'Leave, dammit!  I cannot waste my time battling against impossible odds for people who can never be grateful for the outcome… It's not worth my effort anymore!'  

Jean took Scott by the arm, and led him to the door.  Before closing it on them, Piotr grudgingly accepted a card with the Mansion's contact details.  'Just think about it, will you?'  She said softly as Scott stood angrily outside in the sunshine.

She let the door shut, and rubbed his shoulders.  'He's under a lot of stress.'

'Well… aren't we all.  We're supposed to look out for one another, not be at each other's throats all the time!'

'Come on,' she started, a new idea sparking 'I've got one thing that could work.'

                                                *        *        *

A dank, sleazy place was the terrestrial home of the Moscow mafia officers.  They preferred to spend time conducting ill-fitting affairs in the stately rooms of a strip-club than rather own a collective warehouse to communicate in.  Their main headquarters existed further in the city where frequent trips to protection racketed businesses and private organisations could be made.  Here, in the dark air of smouldering cigar smoke and cheap exported alcohol, the officers of the mob resided.  It was a dangerous move on their part, Jean and Scott affirming their precarious lives by visiting some of the most unpredictable men in the city for a simple blackmailing discussion.  The idea was to use a little telepathic trickery on the men in charge of Piotr's bondage, but without telling the proud Russian.  He may have been a farmhand once, but elevating himself to the pride and pretentiousness of a famous district artist left its mark on his sensitive skin.  Unfortunately Piotr disappeared from that world a long time ago, and now an alternate bad history led him down a different path.  Jean was sure of herself, and all they really required was a little collaboration with the officers to make this work.

The two students entered the building, which was open for business among afternoon hours.  Focussing on the task in hand instead of the display parading over the stage in meagre garments, Scott strode to the man at the bar and got them to see the manager.  Upon realising he was the person at the highest position in the area as well as that, and therefore in custody of their Russian X-Man, Jean let loose with her influence.  The stereotyped mob man sat in an easy chair half-engaged in a sports event displayed on his pathetically worn-our tv screen.  He chewed on long sandwich held between greasy fingers and dumbly registered what Jean was saying.  'I understand very little English from you Americans.'  He interrupted after sustaining enough meaningless blackmail from them.  'I don't listen to what you just say – I not listen now.  Get out; I have more important things to do.'

Scott's rising anger at this irascible overweight criminal outweighed his sensibilities.  Assuming it must have been the foreign atmosphere, or the stabbing cold temperature, he flicked his glasses half off the bridge of his nose and unleashed a narrow beam that split the man's lunch in half.  A quick call brought a tumult of more petulant Russian mafia typecasts into the room, and Jean worked hard to maintain a level of calm with her powerful mind.  Acting as if nothing was wrong, the men dispersed and Jean focussed on their leader's weak brain.  Navigating involuntary defences, she reorganised his thoughts and let him believe that Piotr was free from punishment for the accident.  'Why are you asking him to repay you for the lost weapon?  It wasn't his fault.'  She said grinning to Scott.

'I know it wasn't Piotr's fault – I can't understand why my men ask for reimbursement.'  The man replied in perfect English.  Something about the immediate invasion usually brought on a burst of language comprehension from the victim, and in its own way, the performance looked disturbing.  

'If you try to prosecute him like you've been doing, your boss won't appreciate it.  Although he never talks about it, he doesn't want you touching or communicating with the Rasputin family or any of its derivatives.  Got it?'  She enquired just testing her own level of competency with his mind.

The man nodded encouragingly, and Jean congratulated herself.  Hopefully in due course, Piotr would accept his rightful place among Xavier's ranks.  More mafia men snooping outside the office door straightened as Jean started to leave.  She concentrated on alleviating them of any fear from the situation, and managed to leave with Scott before they became too suspicious.  

                                                *        *        *

Night was falling once more and the two teenager's flight would be tomorrow at roughly ten o'clock in the morning.  Their hotel room was still reserved, so one last night would be spent there before jetting off from Russia and landing safely back in New York.  The sun would be drying, the air would be musty and laden with exhaust fumes, and there might be no drops of rain for the next week, but at least it the temperature would conform to the time of year.  Summer didn't seem to have any relevance for Moscow residents; apart from school children enjoying free time, warm weather was non existent.  Perhaps they had journeyed to Russia in a particularly bad week, but neither wanted to come back to find out if the weather ever improved.  It might be an idea, they presumed, to take Ororo with them next time.

The plan now was to stay one last time in the hotel, and then wake early for a long flight the next day.  Returning empty-handed would be a disappointment to some extent but Charles would understand why.  If either of the two students had any empathy and sense, they could realise that Piotr would come back, but only in a little time.  Unknown to them, he was busy still even without the threat of his duty.      

Tidying the room out of guilt for its state the previous night, Jean took time out of filing socks and shirts to dwell further on their relationship.  Her back to him, she wondered whether their intimate tryst might have evolved if Charles had not suggested their search for Piotr.  The time spent in Moscow had certainly been eventful and she was grateful for their experience, but had they not spent time in close quarters and away from everyone else, Jean wondered if sex would have become a part of their relationship so quickly otherwise.  'Did you enjoy our stay?'  She asked, starting to pack again.  

'Of course – I was waiting for the circumstances to arrive, and it just happened that Piotr's disappearance catalysed them.'  It was obvious he loved her.

'It was not a one-time thing, Scott.'

'No way; I kind of want to do it again you know.'  He responded, staring into her beautiful green eyes.  They in turn explored his unyielding glass gaze, and he held her.

'I expected it to happen soon too.'  She said by way of explanation.  'I wanted it to happen.'  

'Since I first saw you Jean, it was nothing but love at first sight.  I couldn't believe what went down last night.'  He stated.

'I'm pretty sure it was you…'

'I mean it.'  Scott said.  'Everything makes sense between us now – no nervousness, no awkward moments or misjudged moves – it all works out.'

'I love you too.'  Jean kissed his mouth, and hugged him tightly.  With her hands wrapped about his, she could feel his pulse quicken with every touch – his heartbeat skip suddenly as she breathed into his neck while his chest rose and fell.  Suddenly it was clear to her, and even through all the doubt and self-questioning, he was still standing beside her.  Standing in the moment; something that no-one could separate from two distinct people that were so much an aspect of each other.  She fit him uniquely and perfectly; since their meeting and sparking of friendship they had been together.  Now she would exist for him, because of him, and finally with him.

                                                *        *        *

He owed a lot to Jean and Scott's intervention and he understood that his place among the mob had disappeared, but along with his gratitude came wounded pride.  The duty was gone and now Piotr felt like he had failed his cousin's obligation – even if it was to criminals.  He was a man of honour, and though the Moscow mafia had soon forgotten, he still had to show his appreciation through other means.  Searching for an outlet the day after Scott and Jean left Russia, he chanced upon an enquiry into Andreyev's family finances.  Realising that part of the reason the arms deal was so important was because of the great yield profited from it, Piotr set about retrieving the money he was originally going to pay off the mobsters with.  His noble offer of eleven thousand roubles was thankfully accepted by the family, and he could finally let Andreyev's unlawful business die quietly.  Concluding his affairs in the town, Piotr bid farewell, and headed for the Siberian farming collective near Lake Baikal where his parents lived.    

It was good to see them again, and he felt a great swell of happiness and caring when their doors opened.  His mother and father were still organisers in the farming community, and living out an adequate life among the cold snow and peaceful comfort of a backwater impoverished Russia.  His sister Illyana was ecstatic to see him once again, just turning sixteen.  Their relationship had suffered considerably since his commitment to Andreyev's organised group, but he was glad that they could at least interact in a short stay at home.  Mikhail, the older brother was thankfully not present, having gone off travelling for a time, but to avoid any disagreement or conflict, Piotr made sure that his visit tied in to his sibling's absence.  

At home, it all felt different.  The way he would talk to his family, especially his sister – it wasn't easy anymore as Piotr had been away for too long.  His association with Andreyev had deprived him of family union, and Mikhail's fragile, fiery nature insured their particular connection was difficult at the best of times.  Perhaps he belonged somewhere else now; he had a higher cause to tend to, but whatever the reason, he found he could not stay for long.  Time had a habit of catching up on him, and Piotr was becoming a different man because of it.

On the last day, he was sitting alone in his old room when Illyana walked in, wanting to know of the world outside Russia.  From what Piotr had seen and experienced, it was challenging to relay the way in which he felt about it all.  The Xavier institute was a favourite subject for the both of them before Piotr left, but everything that had happened culminated in creating him as a person.  Every experience in the mob, his conflict with Magneto and the X-Men; it all included to change his perspective on life.  No longer could he be content with being a farmer's son.  Piotr had his place out in the world that hated and feared mutants – he was part of another organisation in his life, and even if that never came to anything, his existence in the wintry wastelands of Siberia had come to an end.  In the end he told Illyana that he was simply a dedicated drifter, tied down by nothing anymore save his will to survive.  Her lasting words of: 'let me be a part of your life once more' remained with him for a long time afterwards.  He was to leave Russia now, and choose a different path for his destiny.


	5. blunt force trauma

Writer: Rowland Wells

_Disclaimer:  I am in no way any part of Marvel Comics or any affiliation of their enterprise.  I do not own the X-Men or any Marvel Characters.  _

Alternate 

X-Men 

#16

"blunt force trauma"

The Savage land, home to many forgotten peoples of the intolerant and blinkered world, was still alive with auspicious prosper.  It had risen through the fire of Magneto's retribution to survive under the partial care of the master's Acolytes and their dedication to his higher cause.  Not alone in ruling this verdant Eden among the Antarctic Circle's boundaries, Fabian Cortez was allowed to simply commandeer Magneto's colossal fortress of Avalon in his absence.  The Savage land itself was a fruitful garden stuck in time, its contents dating back to the prehistoric ages of the Earth's relative infancy.  Attached end to end in a ring entirely around the perimeter of the land were enormous active volcanoes, each of which helped to fuel the constant warmth that heated the soil beneath the Cortez's feet.  Animals, plants and minute civilisations all contained in the relatively small bubble of time never knew of the advances outside their boundaries.  It was a secluded haven for mutant refugees, and anyone else wishing to ascend the petty ambitions of a few twisted individuals that played for power over the globe. 

No-one knew why this part of Earth had remained constant while the rest was overrun with humanity and their ingenious inventions.  The structure of the land was relatively stable underneath the seabed, but the erupting volcanoes ensured a cornered, private environment in which life had flowered without obstruction.  It was a vast, temperate, jungle vista, shrouded in mystery of the ages, and not one resident questioned its presence anymore than they would question their own existence.  The Savage land was part of the Earth's creation, and it would remain unique in its splendour until the end of days when only the planet could die.         

It was a living, breathing masterpiece, Cortez thought, standing at the huge glass window in Magneto's original hallways of Avalon.  Everything lost among their annals of a most useless, base and ignorant civilisation was kept here, he marvelled.  It was a testament to nature and evolution.  Strongly welcoming the new age of Homo Sapiens Superior, he advocated the assault of overwhelming power on the weaker species.  They are vermin, unfit to rule even themselves anymore, he thought, turning his gaze to the gigantic testament to architecture his lord had assembled.  Smooth surfaces of marble, steel and stone all fit into place congruently, resulting in a near perfect assembly of majestic quality with only a wave of his hand.  Cortez could only imagine what it would be to wield such great power.  

Anne Marie, his sister, interrupted the grandeur of it all with her persistent voice.  She ambled over to him adorned in robes of fine silken material.  'Your attempt with our lord – how goes it?'

He strangled his eyes away from the beauty of the jungle vistas and observed her.  

'Is he starting to remember?'  She repeated.

'I am doing my best with what little power I fully control.  Hopefully, he will recall everything about his quest.'

'You sound uncertain, Fabian.'  She said, keeping her distance from his fiery temper.  He had become very different from how she used to picture him.  The devoted pleasance to which he gave all of Magneto's underlings had disappeared the day of his lord's failure, and Cortez seemed embittered to say the least.  

Sure to veil his emotions from her purveying senses, Cortez smiled and evoked more pleasing an appearance for her benefit.  'I think he always wanted to remember, but the psychic dampening Xavier placed was too strong for even our master to overcome.  It will be intensive, but soon we will rise mightily once more to combat the very existence of these pathetic world leaders.  They will know that we cannot falter by a simple cheap trick.'

'What are your intentions?'

What are my intentions?  Fabian queried himself ahead of answering.  'I will force humankind to see my way.'  He put simply.

'Our way, brother; you plan to exercise our control over the powers of this most vile world;' she responded 'a world that we will make right once more, for mutants to rule – Homo Sapiens _Superior.'_

Yes, he thought, _but not in the way you imagine_.                                                 

*        *        *

The summer heat radiated through the musty brown clouds lingering above the New York City skyline, scorching the helpless people scattering around like ants within the wide streets.  They panicked beneath the hot glow, running for shelter under parasols spread over outcropping restaurant seats.  The middle of the season in New York was nothing compared to states and cities located nearer the equator as Remy knew, but bearing that in mind still didn't stop him from sweating in the baking interior of a yellow cab.  Rogue looked across at him amiably and he gave a small grin despite the swelter that seemed to irritate everyone in the vehicle.  Logan sat shotgun while the driver swore and blared his horn through contorted lines of crushed traffic.  They tried pathetically to squeeze into the right lane, but were cut off by another brutally rude cab that zipped in first.  Apart from the white noise of the mercilessly inaudible static radio, all Rogue could hear was Logan's loud sighs as he grumbled when the driver made a wrong move.  She was definitely wishing they had never tried a cab to Salem Center.  

Finally making it out of Finland via a partially hijacked flight from a local airstrip, the three exiled mutants landed in Richmond in Virginia.  Upon staying the night there for rest, they started off on a road trip that would then take them through Washington D.C, Baltimore, Philadelphia and finally into Maine.  Rogue had to say that Logan didn't make for the greatest of travelling partners; his dogmatic persistence was trying when they were depressed, and it was quite obvious that he was fed up of them, when they were exhausted with his company.  They had hitch-hiked through several states, and then bored of constantly being rejected for their irritable natures, Remy had decided on stealing motorcycles and a truck to gain some distance.  It wasn't vital that they reach Xavier's institute on any given time, but it was vital that they actually reach it.  If Logan hadn't been so driven, Rogue would have given up hope and abandoned the constant plays for power among mutants.  Her involvement had so far yielded nothing but misery and stress, and the southern beauty seemed perfectly fine to disappear into myth.  Remy was welcome to tag along, but only if he kept his hands off her.  

She enjoyed his company a lot, and he certainly was romantic and considerate, but there were times when she couldn't understand why he bothered looking out for someone with whom he couldn't be intimate.  The man clearly needed Rogue's support, but what he desired was unobtainable.  Rogue simply put it down to her own doubt and low self-esteem.  Had she been more capable, she was sure she wouldn't have wound up in half the things she had.  On the outside, Rogue was seductive, but she was still young and therefore often considered useable.  If someone set out to catch her like Weapon X had, then they would.

Now, on an inclination from Logan, they were headed for Xavier's school for Gifted Youngsters.  For a time, under Magneto's supervision, the X-Men were considered her enemies, but she had no qualms about letting the grudge go.  Magneto himself had been one of the only people able to touch her upon discovery of her powers, and Rogue felt indebted to him for that bond.  She was never in his regime for power or money, but simply as a drifter looking for a place to stay.  Her alignment was of no consequence after her mentor's downfall, but escape from the ensuing blame-landing was.  Remy, who was captured originally by genetic researchers looking to investigate mutant evolution, was able to escape the same cascade, and eventually the two managed to travel part of the way to France.  Unfortunately SHIELD intervened, and both were deposited under the care of Weapon X.  Now free of that, they hoped to rely on secrecy to leave them undetected.  Logan had changed the plan though by turning up at the last minute with supposedly better intentions for them.  Reluctantly forced to follow, all three were now stuck in the same traffic jam, headed for nowhere in summer heat so hazy, it could melt the paint off the top of the taxi.

'How much further is it to Xavier's?'  Rogue asked, trying to wave some cool air onto her face.  The black interior of the vehicle wasn't helping to calm the heat, and even with the windows all open, hot exhaust transferred from one car into another.  'God knows, love.'  Logan responded.  His method of maintaining correct temperature was to stay completely still with one arm out the window and the other on his leg.  Remy flustered uncomfortably, and then drew a few fingers over Rogue's cheek.  'Neh.'  He said, suppressing a puerile giggle.  They laughed just as the taxi jerked into life and moved forward.  'We're finally going somewhere.'  Rogue assumed.  The car stuttered several meters, and then broke away from the main haul at speed.  Managing to get to the off-ramp without too much hassle from other drivers, the taxi accelerated over the boiling black tarmac and through the city on the raised highway routes.  Enthused, the driver turned up the radio, which was currently spurting out Hispanic jazz-salsa fusions.  Rogue wondered even at this travelling time whether they would make it before nightfall as congestion was still perpetual in the heart of the city.  So much had happened recently to her and Remy; it almost seemed a shame that they would spend the remainder of the summer in Xavier's school.  France was supposed to be lovely at this time of year.  

As the taxi slowed to queue in a tiny tailback before the correct turning, a loud thump from the bass speakers in the taxi made Rogue jump.  She wasn't a generally of a nervous disposition, but that was unnatural in her opinion; the radio couldn't have been that loud.  'Do ya wanna turn down the bass a little?'

The driver shook his head.  'There're two speakers in the front with no equalizer – how was that me?'  

A thin needle injected itself into the taxi roof, cutting away the ceiling material with its razor edge.  Stunned and fascinated, Rogue might have believed this was a heat-induced hallucination if the needle had not sprouted to a claw and ripped away half the roof.  Screaming, although she didn't realise it, her hands caught the door release mechanism and she shoved it open to escape in a flurry of tangled clothes and matted hair.  Half-turning during the ensuing panic, she caught sight of Sabretooth supported on the stable part of the cab roof.  She called for Remy, but her voice was lost in the barrage of yells and crying.  

'Open up!'  Victor shouted, tearing away the first half of the car.  The driver went limp suddenly as the back of his head was caught up in Sabretooth's deadly grasp.  Remy cried something inaudible and raised his hand to the ceiling material still intact.  'Get the hell outta here!'  He shouted to Logan, who had popped his claws for the tussle.  Sabretooth smashed the windscreen and reached through it for Logan's disappearing form.  Abruptly, the taxi's surface boiled beneath his feet, and the feral mutant tumbled over as it burst into a shower of flame.  Remy stumbled onto the tarmac as a travelling car just narrowly missed his falling body by inches.  Screeching to halt against a tall green road sign, the passengers got out and ran for fright.  'Get in!'  Rogue shouted to her companions while she started up the engine of the abandoned car with keys still in the ignition.  Reversing it quickly, Sabretooth shot across the windscreen view but was then struck down by her accelerating moves.  Remy bustled into the back seats, letting off another distracting explosion from a charged pebble in the road.  'Make for the Mansion!'  Logan howled urgently.  The car sped off, bypassing the accumulating traffic and Rogue managed to maintain concentration even while the other drivers panicked and let the highway go haywire.

Sabretooth rose from the sun-baked tarmac, spun over and jumped atop the starting cars still on the road.  'Catch me if you can, runt, I'm off to get those two!'  He was perched like a jackal on the roof of a speeding car while Logan raced after them all on swift feet.  After almost a hundred feet, the vehicle with his adversary was travelling too fast to catch up.  Deciding to exact revenge, Logan thrust a bewildered motorcycle driver off his new purchase, and slammed his foot down on the silver pedal.  Screeching like a newborn infant's birth scream, the bike accelerated up the packed highway, zooming past more cars and open spaces along the giant expanse.  Occasionally glancing to the side to judge his distance, Logan moved opposite the car Sabretooth was on.  The wind bashed against his unprotected face, and Logan strained difficultly to see through the oncoming rush.  They were snaking their way further into the city amid all the towering, advanced industry skyscrapers, and they were travelling at a colossal speed to do it.  Extending his six claws once more, Logan looked to Rogue and Remy, both making headway in front of this bizarre spectacle.  Police sirens burst into life in the distance, and he knew now there was no way he would reach the Mansion by even tomorrow morning.  

The insane car burnt its rubber tires along the pollution-blackened surface as it bobbed in all directions.  Victor Creed took great pleasure in ramming his claws through the roof of this moving transport.  Pulling the surprised passengers out and tossing them along the tarmac they were covering, allowed a free seat for his operation in the driver's position.  He slithered in, and held his own during the most treacherous stunt on four wheels.  The car swerved perilously to and fro as he adjusted himself, and then again deliberately as his intention was to knock the pestering runt off his orbiting bike.  

Rogue took great control of the vehicle as it careered along the open stretch of road, dodging several discarded cars and escaping trucks.  She briefly noticed the police helicopter now monitoring their position above, and then focussed on the road in front.  The raised highway was several meters off the surface of the main concrete pathways, and stretched from several key points in New York City to others.  It allowed for rapid access to many areas, but only if you were prepared to do incredible speeds down it one moment, then stay stuck in tailback queues the next.  Rogue ensured they were gaining speed ahead of the following vehicles, while keeping control of the unpredictable steering wheel.  It would lurch from one side to the other at this velocity, and it took most of her precision and strength to bear with the car's insane stunts.  Chancing a look behind, she managed to quickly catch Sabretooth's car spinning out of control.  

Having exceeded the speed limit, Victor Creed was not liable for explaining why his vehicle then careened out of control.  Logan was riding alongside, but his pathetic attempts at flanking his enemy did nothing.  Only the unpredictable incompetence of the car's structure let it jack-knife into the waylaid van without any control at speed well over one hundred miles per hour.  Bracing for the sudden and fatal impact, Sabretooth reached for the gap in the roof and pulled himself through it.  In the split seconds before the strike, his crazed mentality launched him into a frenzy of masochistic ecstasy, and he sported a smile on his withered features as the van loomed into view.  His car caught the side of the obstruction abruptly, and the resulting shatter of glass and metal grated against even his ears.  The car smashed into the van, then swivelled to the side and proceeded to barrel-roll down the length of road.  It ended the spectacular display by cart wheeling through the air while he was tossed from the roof by centrifugal force.  A terrific crash and burn resonated throughout the city while the pursuing police cars were stopped in their trailing tracks.  Sabretooth flung across the air and landed nimbly on the bonnet of another stationary car.  The passengers screamed as he posed on the surface, and then leapt for Logan's accompanying motorcycle.

Registering complete shock as his enemy sailed from one spot on the car and then into him, the two careered off the motorcycle at speed and scraped along the black tarmac.  Blood splashed over the road, and Sabretooth thrust five claws on his left hand into Logan's shoulder as soon as they rose.  'Die ya gutless bastard!'  He shouted in his repulsive bloodlust.  Immediately a police car, just able to pass through the fire of Sabretooth's previous vehicle, couldn't brake fast enough.  It hurtled across the tarmac, screeching mightily before impacting on the unsuspecting worm.  Victor Creed took the full force of the unprepared car straight in the chest, and he crumbled into a lifeless mass of bloody bones, striking the side of another queuing truck.  The opposing force smashed with the huge dent and was knocked straight over in a clatter of shattering glass.  'Jesus!'  Logan cried, hardly able to understand his luck.    

Slowing as their stolen car came to an off-ramp along the highway, Rogue allowed them to cruise into another lane of traffic.  'Let's get out of here – the cops are looking for us, and I doubt they're going to ask just questions.'  She said to Remy while they escaped the monitored streets.  People stirred from their autonomy at the screeching brake of tires, and watched curiously as the two southern mutants flustered into the crowded streets.  The helicopter flew overhead, cautious of the skyscraper aerials poking into the clouds.  For a few moments, its view was obscured by buildings and more New York City dwellers, so it rotated around the obstacles, and flew in search of the escapees.  

Slumping exhausted against an alley wall, Rogue and Remy breathed a grateful sigh of relief.  In the back streets, the heat couldn't penetrate so effectively, and they took several seconds to organise the rushed events that had passed in a blink of an eye.  'Comment vas-tu?'  Remy asked, reverting to a natural use of southern French.  He carefully held her face in the light with his gloved hands, and searched her panting, subtle looks for any abrasions.  Remy pressed her against the wall, and she let out a long, pent-up groan.  'When are we ever out of goddamn trouble?'  

The dank stench of indisposed garbage and rotting rainwater perforated their senses once they had calmed down, and Remy led her carefully out of the alley.  As if on cue though, he was picked by the collar of his stained shirt and tossed back into the dark, squalid confines of the passage.  Rogue looked at their new attacker, and her heart leapt into her mouth.  A sickly feeling of rising nausea embraced her senses and she turned about, lest she vomit.  Hauled by her neck, she was thrown to the floor as well.  Staring down on them, the man spat and leered a crude Texan grin.  

Logan threw himself over the raised highway concrete barrier, and landed several seconds later on the tarmac of the roads below.  Panicking at the oncoming assault of speeding traffic, he rolled out of the way and then jumped over the braking vehicles bonnets.  He had to find Remy and Rogue before the police captured them – his entire objective had been to let all three of them into Charles's dream once more, without fear of past discrepancies.  He deemed it the only way out of the continuing fiascos each found themselves constantly in.  The police sirens echoed overhead in request for his humble presence, but Logan wouldn't grace them with an appearance.  Making a way off the main road underneath the highway, he stumbled, cut and bloody, toward the main centre of the city, hoping that by the time he reached Greenwich Village he might look presentable.  

Shoving a queasy Rogue against the dank alley wall while people walked oblivious to the arrest just metres away, a newly surfaced Spaskyich held them prisoner.  'Ha!  I knew I'd be able to find you bastards running home to Charlie's house.  Didn't think ya'd lost me forever, did ya?'  He jeered, revelling in his own competence.  Catching sight of Rogue removing a thin glove, he smacked her across the face with the brunt of his elbow, and she winced.  Furious, Remy swung a leg up to Hawk's unguarded side, but the ex-Commander was too alert.  In a swift move he pulled a pistol from behind and shot a single bullet into the oncoming limb.  Remy yelled and crumbled to the floor.  The bullet had just grazed the skin, but it was enough of a countermeasure to ensure little resistance.  'Keep you hands and feet to yourselves, kids.'  He growled, bearing his ugly maw.  Choosing to defy his enemy once more, Remy picked a card from the deck held in his long coat pocket, charged it up with energy, and let it fly from his hand.  Although not quite on target, the explosion was off-putting enough for him to grab up Rogue's arm and pull them to the streets ahead.  Spaskyich yelled mightily, and managed to shot off another several rounds, all of which landed in a bystander's body.  The innocent woman dropped dead, and a tumultuous uproar was incited.  Dodging more congested cars, Remy limped speedily in between boots and bonnets, towing a disengaged Rogue behind him.  'Merde!'  He shouted, forgetting for an instant his English.  Shoppers and business people scattered in the hail of screaming panic, and just as they darted for cover in the most ridiculous of places, Rogue was buffeted to heavily.  Her shirt ripped over the sleeve, exposing a long line of skin.  As the people ran past, they made contact, and she started a terrible chain of victims.  Normal men and women whose memories she absorbed suddenly fainted from contact, and she cried out for the one person who could help her.  More screams went up, helicopter's appeared through the musty clouds to witness the action, and all the while Spaskyich was coming up just behind them.  Steadily becoming disorientated from the constant impulses of emotions, memories and abilities even from normal humans, Rogue was due to collapse.  'Help me!'  She called desperately to Remy.    

The Cajun took in the entire scene, and then focussed his talents on one abandoned car stuck in the centre of the road to cause the biggest distraction yet.  Forgoing his respect for other people's property and safety, he charged the vehicle with his unique ability.  Grabbing Rogue by her shielded arm, while she attempted to cover herself from affecting anymore people, they ran across to the other side of the street.  The car exploded mightily, and tossed high into the air – dispersing the crowd but also generating some space for them.  The roar of fear and horror hailed the new surprise of lit engines as many more vehicles caught fire in the sparking burst.  Stealthily weaving his way between the cars before they went up too, Spaskyich soon caught up with the two mutants.  As people shoved past, and crashed through the barrier of hysteria, Spaskyich took Remy by the shoulder and landed a swift blow clear across his temple.  The Cajun collapsed to the floor while Rogue was left snivelling at gunpoint in the middle of the street.  Ahead of the entire New York City police force appearing, Spaskyich soon cajoled his captives to a more secluded spot for delivery.

                                                *        *        *

Determined not to let the two mutants disband and jump ship, Logan ran deeper into the city.  Lights blared on and off like demented strobes, and sirens yelled their animosity for mutant blood.  The streets were filled with chaos, and all because of Sabretooth's agitated motives.  Whatever the reason for his reappearance, Logan was sure it signified danger on the tracks, so whisking himself off to Xavier's was the only option left.  With the combined power of Charles's mind and the Cerebro computer unit, Logan would be able to detect Rogue and Remy somewhere in New York.  It never crossed his mind that they could vanish from the city faster than he could.  

Zipping in and out of alleyways and back streets, the feral mutant made sure he stayed concealed from passing police cars or stressed businessmen carrying revolvers in their suitcases.  He pulled his collar tighter around the large scrape in his neck, and headed for the outskirts of the city.  There he figured he might chance upon another motorcycle or truck to drive all the way to Westchester County.  A simple apology for his absence and abandonment from the team in their hour of need would suffice, and then he could get on with locating the two deserters.  Thinking about it, Logan realised that perhaps he had pushed Remy and Rogue too far in making them come to America again.  After all, what exactly were they going to do in Finland?  Logan wondered.  He had _motivated_ them, and they should have been grateful enough to at least pause down the highway for him to get in after Sabretooth was hit.  That was not the case though, and Logan did feel slightly betrayed; without his assistance all this time, they might never have got out of Virginia.  Rogue and Remy had both been through way too much to just go AWOL; with their two unique talents, they deserved to be part of a unique organisation like the X-Men.  The other mistake Logan was making though was to assume his place in the team existed anymore. 

He was entering more low-life territory now, coming into contact less and less with the skyscrapers and office-blocks that typified New York.  Flats, illegal landfills, drilling sites, bars and drunken hobos met his gaze instead, and he was glad of that.  The heat of summer, enhanced through airy brown smog was starting to waver as the day progressed, and Logan supposed that it must have been about four o'clock.  Taking time out for a large drink after feeling the effects of his slow but steady dehydration, he made for the nearest bar and stepped in.  Flicking his beady eyes to the tv screen, weary of his appearance in a public place after the uptown incidents, he made to the corner of the stools and called the bartender over.  In the middle of his perfect drink, with condensation dripping idyllically down the side, Logan received a purposeful tap on the shoulder.  'Friends of yours, asshole?'  The overweight boozer indicated, pointing to the screen showing reported images of Rogue and Remy making their way through the scattering crowds after the car bomb.  Having not been watching the news, Logan perked up, and placed his half-empty tall pint glass down.  'I don't know what you're talkin' about.'  He replied, ducking his head a little lower.  A shove to the back could not have aggravated Logan more; he twisted round and shattered the now empty glass against the boozer's thick head.  Immediately the entire bar recoiled, and the friends of the fallen man stepped back to find a pool cue.  'Mutie – why don't you just die in a hole, 'stead of causing all this trouble!'  The bartender yelled, retracting from behind the counter.  Logan examined the man's intrepid face quickly; the shallow breathing, the scared, dilated pupils and fidgeting hands.  Deciding to make his point, the mutant threw his arm with all three claws extended down onto the line of shot glasses ready to have whiskey poured into them.  Skewering the glasses on each edge, Logan shook them in front of the bartender's face.  'Which one of you has keys to that bike out there?'  He called, still facing the petrified man.  Nobody responded, so Logan flung the glass into the wall and it smashed terrifically.  He then swivelled on the boozer, just getting up.  'Is it you?'  He enquired with false charm.  

'Blow me.'

Logan shot one of his claws clean through the boozer's left forearm, and to the man's dismay it hurt quite a lot.  Choosing to leave amid the wretch's high-pitched whine, Logan bounced out of the doors to the relief of the anxious crowd.  Moments later the bike engine revved loudly, and sped off.

He would make good time on this beautiful machine – it looked brand new, with only minor dust marks blown across its sleek black paintjob.  Ignoring the changing lights, Logan simply drove straight through, and glanced for the nearest directions.  Salem Center was just seven miles from here, so he stepped on the accelerator.  

                                                *        *        *

Sweeping high above the towers and skyscrapers of the grand West coast cityscape, the Blackbird flew in search of the conflicting trouble-starter previously seen all over the news.  On board, Hank piloted the jet while Ororo, Warren and Betsy sat anxiously in the backseats, ready to mete out Sabretooth's due punishment.  Having seen the devastation broadcast over the airwaves, Charles decided to end his rampage by pitting the worm against his elite force, who Victor Creed seemed so hell-bent on destroying.  Whatever the reason for the mutant's appearances, Charles was sure that he could be stopped in a final confrontation.

Without the use of the Cerebro computer unit, the Professor was unable to communicate long distances with his students, but Hank knew the purpose of their visit to the city anyway.  Deciding to ignore his want for secrecy due to the altered, animal-like façade, Hank focussed on the task in hand.  Biased opinions on his edge over the human form couldn't distract from their objective, even if he matched Sabretooth's feral and animated exterior.  He only wished that people might see past the ferocious shell to the vivacious creature underneath.  Deciding to hush his qualms for fear of compromising their relationship with the rest of society, Hank looked to his girlfriend Ororo, who was wrapped up in the freedom of their mode of transport.  Hank found nothing could draw her attention from flight in open space, especially since Ororo was learning to emulate the experience herself.  'Are you nervous?'  He asked in his throaty murmur.

'I cannot wait to do this myself, lover-boy.'  She replied, her leg shaking slightly on the metal flooring.

'I mean about that seven-foot walking tramp.'  He kept his eyes straight on their incoming destination.  

'Hell yes.'

Behind them, Betsy was concentrating on the brief amount of experience she had under her belt.  Nothing would prepare her enough for the real combat of a voracious enemy like Sabretooth, but with her swiftness and agility, she was truly formidable nonetheless.  She swayed her dark hair with the purple dye colouring it, making sure it trickled down the sides of her face serenely.  She tied it in a bun at the back and smiled to Warren watching her.  Extending a hand worriedly, she held it tight as the jet prepared to touchdown on the hospital roof.      

                                                *        *        *

Managing to catch five minutes rest at the expense of the hundreds of patient's suffering all around her, Doctor Cecilia Reyes was watching the televised broadcasts of today's catastrophic events.  Her concentration couldn't centre entirely on the heat-affected wavy screen as certain prejudices arose when humans and mutants clashed on her part, but she attempted to act nonchalant for the good of her job and safety in downtown New York.  The reporters were displaying the amazing series of events which led to a riveting five-mile car chase along route 401, resulting in several casualties and the ignition of many fire-fighting obstacles.  Turning away for some variety within her extremely scarce break time, Cecilia let her eyes wonder over the contents of the waiting room.  Ordinarily they would be inundated with patients, complaining of all types of ailments and sicknesses, but for some peculiar reason no-one was present.  Briefly, trauma cases usually flooded in, but on a day like this, she expected a lot more damage than was precisely coming their way.  Landing on one elderly man sitting uncomfortably in the chairs, Cecilia noticed his eyes gazing up at the reports still overwhelming every channel.  He shifted, like something was making him very edgy, so to combat the uneasiness, the old man slipped a cigarette into his hands.  About to walk over and restrict his enjoyment, Cecilia was suddenly stopped in her tracks; the man flicked his thumb against his other fingers and generated a small spark, powerful enough to burn the end of the smoke.  She realised correctly that he was a mutant, but that still didn't excuse him.  She went over, told him to put it out, and then twisted around as the hospital double doors burst open.  

'Auto versus pedestrian – looks in very bad shape…'  The paramedic team announced.  Springing into action, Cecilia grabbed the side of the rolling gurney and looked down into the patient's corroded features.  Splayed mousy-blond hair in the shape of a crop covered his bloody scalp, and he had many large cuts issuing blood from their gaps.  His mouth hung open in a slack gape, and she briefly noticed his tremendously sharp teeth before the gurney smashed into the ER room.  It always comes in bursts, she thought while placing latex gloves over her dark-skinned hands.       

                                                *        *        *   

Darkness and a numb sensation in his entire body was all he could feel anymore.  For a while there had been absolute blackness, and he wasn't even aware of himself for that time.  He assumed it had lasted for quite some time, but there was no way of telling how long time lasted when you were unconscious.  There was nothing to look at but empty vastness; nowhere to focus on but a long stretch of infinity, echoing off into the colourless void space.  He might have been able to discern the noises if he at least understood the jargon spouting next to his ears in amongst the mumbling engine growl.  Slowly, the dark embrace receded into a comfortable mesh of sickly warmth.  It was as if the relief was fake, prescribed and only to make him numb once more.  Drugs didn't work on his metabolism if that was what they were using.  He couldn't absorb them for long enough, and his healing factor always combated the sensations first.  Struggling lights shone through the clearing foggy darkness and the swaying motion became more recognisable.  Suddenly there was a jolt, and he vomited.  An increasing convulsing sensation overtook his fragile body, and he started to seize.  It was at about this time that Victor Creed realised he was convulsing.  His brain was frying inside his head, and neuron control was next to useless.  Most of the damage had been internal, as no bones broke the surface, but on the inside, chaos reigned supreme.  He was suffering massive internal haemorrhaging, and several organs were turned to a pulp.  He took pride in the fact that he would be able repair that damage soon enough, as the large dose of drugs brought him under the spell of sleep once more.  

'…Get me an EKG, chem. 7, blood/alcohol and a tox screen – I'm trying to isolate the bleeding here… hold that will you?'

'He's not under the influence or anything here – what happened to him?  Hey, Ed – what happened to him?'

'I heard it was auto versus pedestrian – blunt force trauma all over his body…'

'Get me a gastric lavage kit.  Damn – intubate him – I'm trying to stop the bleeding here!'

'Come on and get out of the way – we've got casualties from the explosions downtown.  Who the hell is running amuck in this goddamn city?'

'Look at this – we're full up here, move into ER 2… stop this bleeding!'  

'Tox screen's negative –'

Victor's eyes blinked open without seeing anything, his mind surfacing from the drug induced exhaustion infiltrating his addled brain.  He let out a long grinding wail of anguish as their medication quickly ran through his system, and pain registered violently on every single nerve ending on his body.  Sight had still not returned to him, but the fear and alarm consuming his paranoid mind ensured he realised what was going on around.  The antiseptic iodoform smell of hospitals lurked strong in the air, and the rustling of latex, the clanging of scalpels and other instruments all indicated he was under the knife in a trauma ward nearby the hit.  Victor Creed struggled as what seemed like a contained bubble fit snugly over his mouth, and needles slid home into his veins.  'He must be seizing again – get it under control!  Make sure he doesn't dislodge any of the IVs.'  A voice yelled.  The pain was resonating throughout his body, making every nerve and tendon rattle and hum.  He had been struck by a speeding police car, and was just beginning to recover with the aid of the Doctor's treatment, but Victor wasn't consciously aware of all this.  Right now, his only objective was to free himself of the stomach knotting agony, and get away from everyone else.  He screamed as a fresh arc of blood spurted over the emergency room walls.  'Restraints – I lost my scalpel in him…'

'Jeez, this guy was almost dead when we brought him in!'  The voice yelled cautiously.

Victor lurched from the table, his vision now returning, and he wrenched the needles from his arms.  The Doctors and Nurses jumped out of the way totally bewildered at this bizarre horror spectacle.  The security bounded through double doors pulling their pistols on him.  A pool of trauma material and blood let one of the guards slip in it while the other miss-fired as his arm was tugged downwards.  At the crack of the gun, the Doctors leapt out of the way, and Sabretooth sprang into life.  His damage was quickly repairing itself on the inside, but the man still resembled a walking visage from hell.  He snatched up the assisting Doctor in one hand and batted him against the bloody wall.  Cries escalated as the shouts of "mutie" went up, and the fire alarm was pulled.  Bullets embedded in his flesh couldn't stop his enraged and confused form from advancing.  Swiping the two guards clean out the way, Sabretooth crashed through the emergency room doors, and bounded down the corridor.  

Expecting light resistance, he was mistaken as several more guards stopped to aim and shoot.  Patients ducked left, right and centre, and all the while the overhead blare of warning issued its grating noise into the sterile atmosphere.  Smashing up the front desk, Sabretooth tossed staff and patients alike to and fro.  An elderly man stepped in front of him, preparing to combat his path of destruction, but Sabretooth raised his hand to strike.  The man focussed himself, and sent out a bolt of lightening that struck the madman in the chest.  The concussive force sent him flying into an office, and then the man ran in afterwards.  The remaining security dogged the tussle to the door but witnessed Sabretooth dispatching the elder gruesomely.  Lightening pierced out of his dying bodily wounds, and Victor caught a bolt straight through the arm.  The carcass burst into white light and incinerated with the last breath.  Shielding his eyes, Victor turned to dash, but noticed his arm, up in orange flames.  It smouldered, and he charged at the disbelieving guards.  Their barrier of raised pistols could not halt him, and he simply tossed them out of the way before his arm burnt entirely.  The cry scissored the ultra-tense air of the hospital ground floor, and onlookers could only scream their horror at this morbid display of macabre violence.  A fire extinguisher shot across his bow and suddenly doused his flaming limb in white effervescence, and Hank McCoy was standing ready to combat him.  Sabretooth yelled his disapproval, and sliced five claws through the extinguisher.  It showered the two comically with white foam as the sprinkler system engaged above.  'Hank, get back!'  Ororo called, as the water covered his blue fur and clothes.  Sabretooth brushed off the foam in a fit of rage, but the young enchantress issued a ball of lightening at his manic form.  

Silently praising the intervention of these mysterious mutants, the bystanders dashed for the exits.  Doctors, Nurses, guards and maintenance men ran outside, ready for the two opposing sides to battle it out.  As Sabretooth was knocked back toward the trauma rooms, much of the staff was still trapped for the violence, and too afraid to escape, they watched slack-jawed as their original patient miraculously recovered before their eyes.  'We got all the balls in the world here!'  Victor taunted, picking himself up from the devastated hall floor.  'Come to play with me, did you?'

'What the hell are you doing back here?'  Warren asked as Betsy came up beside him.  The four X-Men rallied around their opponent's position, hesitant of his lethal flailing arms.  

As Warren made a step toward him, Sabretooth lunged, but was tugged back by Hank's hefty arms encircling him.  Twisting violently, the blue mutant was thrown off and smashed through a wire mesh enforced window.  Deciding to play his sadistic games with them before leaving, Victor made sure to deal punishment for their insolence.  Ororo brought up a sharp wind that propelled her back from his reaching grasp, and as he overstretched himself, Betsy managed to kick his legs out from under him.  Landing on his back, the British mutant was able to straddle his chest and take hold of his mind.  The crippling invasion left Sabretooth defenceless on the outside while he took care of her assault mentally.  Although his vision was starting to cloud over once more from her attack, Victor knew she was still on top of him.  He thrust ten claws deep into both her shoulders, and Betsy was left crumpled on the hospital floor.  She cried out, but her voice was lost amid the action.    

Sensing his loss, Warren forced new energy into his flight, and collided with a dashing Sabretooth to send them both into the original trauma ward.  'You bastard! You've wrought enough pointless vengeance on innocents for today, and I'm going to murder you for it!'  Warren screeched, pinning the man's arms at his sides.  In a battle of poignant wills, Sabretooth cruelly overpowered the student's weaker force and reluctantly headed for the exit, now desperate for some means of escape.  Victor judged he was in too deep now, and with his resulting rage at the girl's moves, they might be out for blood.  Hank lurched in from the double doors, and the feral protagonist found himself surrounded once more.  Picking the dropped strip lights off the floor, Warren dashed them spectacularly across Sabretooth's skull, bringing him down in a shower of fluorescent white sparks.  He was about to drive the jagged edges of the remains through the opponent's back, but Hank stopped him abruptly.  'Jesus Warren – we're peacekeepers, not vigilantes!'  

'What about my girl?  That lanky bastard mauled her, and now she's on the goddamn floor – just look!'

The dark-skinned Doctor hidden in the corner of the room emerged from the unlit shadows.  'I can help her!'  She said, placing empty hands at a non-threatening stance.  She had been there the entire time, unmoving, and none of them had noticed.  Her lab-coat was covered in random sprays of blood, and she shook, scared.  Raising a hand to her stethoscope, which wobbled with hesitant vibrations, she made to go for Betsy.  'I have to secure her condition –'    

'Who are you?'  Warren shouted accusingly.  His eyes wondered to the girl being attended to by Ororo just outside the room.  His heart fell with each pass over the scene, and any shred of rational emotion was leaking through his sweating body.    

'Look out!'  The Doctor screamed swiftly as Sabretooth reared off the floor and bore down on Warren's cowering form.  The man's constitution was incredible, but Warren would marvel at that later.  Right now, the enemy's massive maw opened up to reveal rows of sharp fangs.  His breath floated over Warren's face, and Sabretooth advanced menacingly.  'You're gonna pay just like your bony little girl, flyboy!  I'm gonna tear ya apart…'

In the instance of his striking action, the Doctor sprung into life and took Sabretooth in her arms, wrapping herself completely around him for the X-Man's escape.  Utterly surprised, the mutant thrust her away as Warren retracted to the back of the emergency room in a flurry of fear.  'You've caused too much trouble, you slimy son-of-a-bitch!'  She yelled, her powers intensifying through elevating fury.  Thin dreadlocks of matted black hair tossed out of the way serenely as a bubble projected itself around the woman.  Her face contorted in concentration and contempt as her hands rose in power.  The impenetrable state of the field pressed against Sabretooth's stunned form and the two students looked on in mute disbelief.  'I've got to get to Betsy…'  Warren exclaimed, darting out of the room via the other entrance.  Hank remained, unblinking, as the Doctor's might finally crushed Sabretooth against the barrier, and he was thrown through the thick brick wall.  Tumbling swiftly out the other side in a haze of dust and mortar, Sabretooth was flung into the gathered crowd.  They scattered fearfully, and he jumped out of their way, relinquishing his wrath.  As the smoky film of dust cleared, the Doctor, now revealed as a mutant too, was left standing for all to see.  

                                                *        *        *

Seemingly peaceful in the abandoned hospital once more, Doctor Cecilia Reyes attended to the beautiful young woman whose complexion was stained with blood pumping from ten sharp incisions in each battered shoulder.  Warren grabbed her hand as she panted her exertion, the lines on her forehead crinkling as she openly wept.  'I overdid it…'  She moaned quietly, while Cecilia shoved gauze into the open wounds.  Hank assembled equipment on a nod from the Doctor and watched as she helped to stabilise Betsy's condition.  'She's bleeding profusely from several main arteries, if I can't have some transfusions on this broken equipment, then she ain't going to make it.'

'Well do something!'  Warren shouted, his experience with many accidents and wounds in the team vanishing from worry.  He stroked Betsy's face as the girl panted and groaned from the strain.  * Oh dear – Warren – get me out of this mess… *  She sighed, her mind communicating with his in her hour of need.  She breathed through gritted teeth.  

'Don't worry; we'll take care of you.'  He cooed.  Her dark eyes gazed up to Warren and she strained a smile, but it was interrupted with a hard wince.  Ororo held the other hand as it reflexively tensed and relaxed while the pain washed over her.  'Her pulse is weakening – where is the other Doctor and the Nurses?'

'God; I don't know – get that IV kit there, and tap her… you know how to do that?'  Cecilia asked, quickly working to obtain the right amount of drugs and pharmaceuticals.  Hank bent over Betsy and tied a strip of material around her elbow.  With precision, he slid the needle into her vein, and retracted the hold.  Quickly observing the abandoned state of the hospital halls once again, he shook his head at the simple carelessness and negligence with which even Doctors and Nurses would treat a broken mutant.    

'I've got a line.'  Hank said, extracting several more bottles from his rapid forages to the stores.  'What next?'

'Put her on a heart monitor… now!'  

Hank wrapped the equipment around Betsy's fingers and wrist.  Suddenly the monitor flickered into life, but its warning beeped dangerously constant.  Calm descended on them while they registered the dire incident, and took time to react.  Eventually breaking the silence, Cecilia checked Betsy's body over.  The monitor then gave out a sudden long string tone as the girl's heart became affected by the loss of blood.  

'She's in v-fib – give me the paddles.'  Cecilia charged up the crash-cart unit, and then shouted: 'Clear!' as a bolt of electricity perforated the wounded girl's body.  She rose and fell gracefully, the charge taking its toll on her weakening heart.  Two arms and legs cracked down on the table mechanically as Betsy's mind faded to black.      

'Come on, goddamit!'  Warren shouted; his emotion surging like a jackhammer.    

After a moment that seemed much too long for any of the students there, Cecilia breathed a sigh of relief and touched a bloodstained finger print on the heart monitor.  'Normal sinus rhythm – look.  She's out of the woods, but this has to have attention…'    

Warren hugged Betsy's unconscious body, wiping away tears that welled in his blue eyes.  'Oh my god.'  He whispered, looking down at her face.

'Don't worry – we've got her… we've got her.'  Cecilia responded.  She proceeded to take new equipment from their sterile packing, and cleaned around the wounds.  Placing several bags of blood on the hanger, she fitted in the lines and sat back to attend to other things. 

'Look at this place!'  Ororo remarked, placing the accumulated equipment on the tabletops.  'It's like a bomb's just hit it.'  Gurneys lay trashed in every corner, posters were ripped off walls, equipment still tumbling from boxes and trays, and everywhere she looked, chairs were empty; not a single person had stayed to deal with the menace.  Their only support was with another mutant, courageous enough to sacrifice her life for the good of the others.  

Hank came back in with a grave look on his face for the others to see.  'I don't want to say this, but we have to move Betsy before the staff returns.  Police will want questions answered, and our telepath is out of commission.  No-one here wants your buddies,' he pointed to their new accomplice 'probing us with all their medical equipment and jargon.  I know it's cruel, but we have to account for our own safety.' 

'I don't think we have a choice to move her out of the hospital if that's what you're considering.'  Cecilia answered, laughing at the ridiculous nature of his proposal.  

'Look at me.  Am I normal for every one of those Doctors and Nurses out there to see?'  Hank said flatly, while Ororo and Warren helped to place Betsy on a gurney, set up for the transfer.  The Doctor waited for a moment before looking to the others.  She gaped at the severity of the girl's wounds; Ororo's surreal silvery-white hair, Warren's two large white feathered wings flapping away the heat in the room, and lastly Hank's cagey, animal, blue-furred appearance.  Deciding to stay sober, she said: 'So?'

Watching helplessly while the four X-Men headed for the elevator that would take them to a parked Blackbird on the roof of the hospital, Cecilia stepped over the rubble and wreckage as timid staff members returned, aghast.  'She might arrest – you have to take care of her!' 

Warren stepped away at the end of the corridor, making sure they were relatively out of sight.  'You know we can't stay.'  He replied.  'We've got medical apparatus where we're going anyway – she'll be in good hands.' 

'Then what are you going to do?'  

Handing a folded card over quickly, Warren tapped it in her hands.  'Listen – call us on that number, and you might find out what the world has in store for people like you and me.'

She shook her head uncomprehendingly.  'What do you mean – the Sentinel thing?  That's over and done with.'

He had little time to spare, so prior to answering her; Warren stepped hurriedly into the elevator as the doors sealed shut.  

She twisted the card and read the details on it: "Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters: 1407 Graymalkin Lane – Salem Center – Westchester County."


	6. defensive wounds

Writer: Rowland Wells

_Disclaimer:  I am in no way any part of Marvel Comics or any affiliation of their enterprise.  I do not own the X-Men or any Marvel Characters.  _

Alternate 

X-Men 

#17

"defensive wounds"

Somewhere along the line, he had wound up making a major mistake.  It had probably been where Logan assumed his appearance was normal enough to get by as a regular human on his stolen motorcycle.  After the scrape with Sabretooth, he didn't exactly look the picture of health.  He had escaped the police lockdown on New York streets just barely, but now trouble had found him once again.

'It's time to square your odds against us, Wolverine.'  Cortez exclaimed excitedly.  He surrounded the feral mutant with his fanatical band of followers in the middle of the streets, only to try and spark a fight before they captured the loose cannon for themselves.  'You can get somebody else, bub, 'cos I ain't comin' your way.  You'd have to set your entire army on me 'fore I crumble.'  He replied, stepped predatorily around their invading moves.  'Whatever plan ya have for new world order, you can shove it up your ass!'  

Driving through New York had been successful, and the motorcycle was fast enough to outrun any suspicious pursuing police cars.  Sirens had gone off, but Logan's sense for egression had shaken even the hardiest cop off his scent.  Once on the outer suburban stretches, he accelerated through the bleak city boundaries and onto the freeways connecting New York's orbiting towns.  On the way, Logan had started to suspect something when he noticed a car on more than one occasion following his weaving dust trails.  Whoever they were, he had soon lost them, but the question of identity still remained.  

Feeling the free wind on his uninhibited body once again, Logan made the five mile distance toward Salem Center easily.  Nearly reaching the outskirts of the Xavier estate's neighbouring lanes at around six o'clock, he congratulated himself on coming this far and staying free of hitches.  Wasting no time, he hauled his short frame off the bike and was greeted by the sight of Cortez's too-Spanish complexion.  A disappointed grunt escaped his lips, and he placed the bike against the thick hedges that traced the perimeter of the Mansion's grounds.

'So you've come to welcome me home?'  Logan asked, popping his claws, agitated.  Delgado, Chrome and Anne Marie took position in a circle around his cornered body.  Malicious stares, tensed legs and twitching fists all flickered before Logan's keen eyes.  

'Magneto is raising once more, Wolverine, and your contract with us has had its terms of service violated.  You owe him and us for your disobedience.  Don't think we don't know how you betrayed him in Washington!'  Cortez proclaimed, strutting toward the ex-employee.  His eyes levelled with Logan's and his gaze was dubious.  'Perhaps we shall terminate you.'

'You wouldn't dare, ya lunatic – I'd kill each of you before your bodies hit the dust.'  Logan retorted, bearing his jagged teeth.  

'Would you care to make a wager on that, scum?'

On a nod from their leader, the other three Acolytes advanced, closing his space claustrophobically.  Logan whisked his deadly hands in the air, and growled menacingly.  'Forget this – I've got somewhere better to be…'  He wavered to the side, but Chrome reached out with his frozen grasp and entwined the mutant's numb leg to the floor.  Spinning with the dead weight attached to his body, Logan swung it across Chrome's chest and flattened him with a single, hefty blow.  Anne Marie lurched into his prone form and combated several swipes and jabs before forcing him straight into the parked bike.  It thundered over and skidded down the gravel incline and feeling returned in Logan's leg.  'I'm not joining you, Cortez – nobody wants you to play god alongside your former master, so jus' leave it!'

Delgado followed Logan's double-take with ease, but rammed his body through the bike frame and into the dirt.  It burst apart as the giant man plucked him, disoriented, and tossed him into the air.  A rough landing met his cracked back, and he released a terrible groan.  

'Have_you_had_enough_yet?'  Cortez asked forebodingly.  He stepped over the mutant's broken body with his own two hands glowing in otherworldly intensity.  'Submit, and maybe we'll take you alive.'

Logan roared tremendously into the salmon coloured sun-setting atmosphere, and flung three claws toward the taunting face of his captor.  'I'm not a pawn anymore, bub, and I'll prove it –'  The weapons grazed Cortez's face just barely, and the Spaniard dropped back.  Replaced immediately by Delgado's grip, Logan struggled further, slashing and slicing until Harry's giant frame revealed stone through the skin.  The air was being slowly crushed out of him, and in his blind rage, his mind began to cloud over, deprived of oxygen.  The other three Acolytes surrounded Delgado's statuesque appearance, waiting for Logan's submissive defeat.  Black shapes cast over his eyes, and he lost sense of vision and feeling around his clutched waist.  'I'm dying…'  He breathed out with the last few words.  Harry's face convulsed with sinister malevolence, and his arm cracked with renewed vigour.  'Succumb, worm!'  He bellowed, fingers clenching tightly.

Logan released a holler of sudden agony, and threw his clawed hands up into the stone vice-like grip.  Delgado's hand shattered into dust at the abrasion, and he reverted to his human form, crying out for the sting of gore.  Released, Logan fell flat to the floor, swallowing copious mouthfuls of dusty air.  'You bastards...'  He mouthed, while Anne Marie hauled his exhausted bulk onto the gravel.  'Do you yield?'  She spat at him repulsively.  'Our kind will inherit the Earth, and ineffectual bystanders like you will be left to crawl beneath our feet.'

'As long as I don't have to kiss 'em, like you did for Magneto…'  He snarled between groans.  'You're just his goddamn lackey – a slave, and he chose me to wipe out the X-Men 'cos you pigs couldn't.'

Enraged, Anne Marie propelled his body into the remains of the broken bike.  It spat out flukes of fuel, before going up in flames.  Determined to progress for their zealous cause, she marvelled in morbid curiosity as his flesh acquiesced to the high heat of fire.  Too distressed to rise, Logan let his body burn inside the warm embrace of torture.

'Do you yield now, X-Man?'  Cortez asked past grating teeth.

From the comfort of his protected window, Bobby Drake was captivated by the horrific spectacle on the single long lane running toward the Mansion gates.  His fingers and sweaty palms stuck to the glass while a damp condensation of moisture increased over the surface by his mouth.  He saw Delgado pluck the charred remains from the fire, and then the Acolytes loading themselves into a helicopter.  As the rotor blades blinked into life, Bobby coughed himself awake.  That can't have been Logan, he wondered in doubt.

                                                *        *        *

The medical ward still held the pungent odour of iodoform; an odd disinfectant aroma that lingered even in the intensive care unit.  It wasn't such a bad smell, and anyone staying there got used to it after a while, but at first encounter it was rather off-putting.  One of the first facilities in the Mansion's basement to be repaired and restructured by the builders, the medical ward served as rest, restore and recuperation for the students wounded in battle.  Currently the only resident was Betsy Braddock, damaged in both shoulders from being molested by Sabretooth's attacks.  In her artlessness, Betsy thought she might be able to assault the madman mentally, but he soon proved her wrong.  His psychic defences had been formidable, and she found that his head was filled with too many obstacles for which to investigate.  The result had left her with severe loss of blood, which she was managing to receive, but it had wounded her pride as much as anything else.  Here she was: a late teenager just off the streets of London sent to fight destructive mutants in the downtown New York Bronx hospitals.  She had failed, and it hadn't done anything to boost her morale.  Turning her head in spite of the morphine-dampened pain, she watched as Warren walked into the ward and sat by her side.  She raised her arm and clutched his open hand.  'I'm so glad you came.'

He leaned over, and kissed her on the forehead, stroking her long dark hair.  'I shouldn't have let you go – we though he might have been weakened by the car crash, but it turned out he was just as invulnerable as before.'

She looked to the tv screen off in the corner of the room, and sighed.  'Why did I think I fit in here, Warren?  I'm just as incompetent as a normal human being…'

'Don't get downhearted – remember Betsy I came to London because I got taken down by those damn Sentinels – we all get trounced from time to time.  That's just the way the job swings.'

'Look at me now Warren!  I wasn't like this in England, was I?  I don't belong here; I'm just some dead weight that plays in the sand while you all save the world.'  She replied, frustrated at her pathetic state.  

'Just shut up for a second, will you?'  He shouted, hoping to knock her from the sour mood.  It seemed to work after several seconds, and she closed her eyes sadly.  'I'm sorry, I didn't want to shout.'

The phone blistered vibrations over the medical ward desk abruptly, and its disturbance woke the two.  Walking over, Warren picked the receiver up.  After a second, he put it down.  'We've got a problem upstairs, I'm going to take a look – I'll see you later Betsy, I promise.'

She nodded, and nursed her battered shoulders with painful hands.  She was out of commission, and that hurt more than the inflicted injuries.               

                                                *        *        *

Charles gazed at the view of delicate, radiant flowers outside his office windows.  They opened out onto the ornamental gardens that Xavier had so lovingly cultivated for many years, and to this day, he was still in awe of their persistence and resilience among the wreckage of his Mansion.  The house itself had been in his family for generations, and through his inheritance, along with a great deal of money, it had come into his hands.

Only after graduate school, and his broken attachment to fellow student Moira MacTaggert, did Charles begin travelling the globe.  In Egypt, he stumbled across the first mutant he knew to be using his capabilities for an evil cause.  Amahl Farouk proved to be a formidable adversary at first encounter, but looking past his defeat, Charles saw the opportunity to combat the malice asserted on the world through his unique telepathic gifts.  He later came to Israel, where he met with the young Erik Lehnsherr.  The two became friends after many operations were performed together, but before Charles even realised it, their differences of opinions were starting to separate them, even at such an early age.  Sometime after the war, Erik had married a woman named Magda and gained a daughter, Anya.  Charles learnt that through sheer spite, a mob had impeded Erik's chances of saving her and to retaliate, he had lashed out to such a degree as to kill all of the people present with his emerging powers.  Terrified by his sacrosanct capabilities, Magda deserted him while she was pregnant with the two twins, Pietro and Wanda.  He left his home behind too, instead travelling to Israel to subsequently meet with Charles.  Embittered by the tragic events of Europe and the Holocaust that decimated his adopted family, Erik became convinced that mutants would only survive the rising prejudice if they asserted their superiority over the planet.  Many decades later, through motives and his direct use of unbelievable power, Erik named himself Magneto, the self-appointed saviour of mutantkind all over the world, and launched a massive terrorist war against humanity.  Although Charles instantly blocked his path to victory through foul means, he was rewarded with the crippling of his legs.  The insurrection cost Charles his mobility and pride, but it gave him the power to call for others to combat the same threats in his stead.  Although Magneto stayed relatively quiet for a period of time, Xavier always knew he would return to haunt him.  

Recruiting his students hurriedly in the ensuing events that triggered firstly the mutant registration act, and then the Sentinel disaster, Charles believed in advancing these chosen people through their restricted belief of power and into a state that condoned the capabilities.  Although he had seen the worst of mutants already, he was prepared to seek the greatest in them as well.  Organising the Mansion and estate grounds with his vast reserves of inheritance, Charles made the Xavier institute worthy of an elite audience, and started the snowball process of an enrolling private school.  He had of course survived many an encounter along with his children at the school, but with Erik's returning memories, he had no choice but to fear the worst once more.  Tessa's gut reaction had not made the situation any better, and with his closest student's appalled feelings in mind, it made Charles think twice before conducting any further action with Magneto and the rest of his school.  

The final demise that the master of magnetism underwent was revenge on Xavier's behalf.  For too long had the self-titled mutant saviour conducted his tragic affairs throughout the world; asserting his affluent and antagonistic righteousness on governments, industrial agencies and the militaristic powers until he spawned a war that brought about more media attention, public knowledge and apprehensive circumspection than ever existed previously for a single man.  Not only had the mutant presence and menace become more apparent through Magneto's actions, but the threat of outside dictator domination was more relevant for governments and enslaved countries.  Perhaps Erik's greatest ambition had been to influence the insurrection of oppressed minorities and injustices, but in all of the resulting turmoil, it had certainly come to pass.  Tension between humans and mutants was at breaking point now, especially in North America, and Charles knew that further instigation could lead to perhaps not just the reactivation of the dreaded Sentinel Contingency and many more atrocity concepts, but such a furious outcry and retaliation from the mutant populous, that an international terrorist war would come into effect.  Mutants would start hiding and running from even their secluded private spaces, and soon the human race would be responsible for the absolute annihilation of nearly a fifth of its population.  Try as he might, Charles could not deny that the favourite sport of the planet's residents was killing, and if humans in the civilised world understood that their very lives were in danger from the mere will to power, Earth might unite in the combined destruction and persecution of mutant presence.  It was a future he was intent on preventing.  His dream, if anything would be to combat the very nature of ill-founded wrath towards humanity; if he himself must perish in the process of achieving such a simple aspiration, then Charles was prepared to make that sacrifice.  He hoped the children under his care were of like mind and soul.  

Magneto's precious helm, the mask that covered his head of greying hair, allowed nothing external to affect his thoughts.  It had been created in an attempt to shield his vulnerable brain from Charles's unparalleled potency of telepathic power after their first encounter as adversaries.  Magneto had caused the shattering of Xavier's bones in his legs, but only after the telepath thwarted his attempts at premature nuclear war.  He had worn the protection ever since encountering Charles's mind, and for that reason, it allowed him complete silence as nobody was capable of detecting his nearby thoughts.  Because of this aspect of Magneto's majesty, Charles could not telepathically perceive his approaching form, but the senses of an experienced leader enabled him to realise someone was behind him in the office.  The wheels on Charles's chair began to buckle and strain, much like they had at Congress in Washington D.C nearly two months before.  The seat bottom shuddered and Xavier twisted around as it fell apart underneath him.  'Erik… what have you done?'

The man known markedly as Magneto stood proudly on the carpeted office floors, his noble and unrestricted uniform glowing darkly with great presence among the waning evening light.  He strode to the crippled man and levitated his body by the metal tags and zips imprinted in his clothes.  Hoisting him with his powers by the chin, as if to strangle the pitiable Professor, Magneto pulled him close.  'Are you pusillanimous Charles?'

Xavier resisted the magnetic bubble's hold on him, but could not refrain from being suspended.  'Who resurrected you?  Let it all go, Erik, your ridiculous schemes aren't worth the effort anymore!'

Magneto grimaced, and thrust his hand forward, hurling Charles against the wall.  'I shall tell you what isn't worth the effort anymore – your struggling!'  The dread lord floated over to Xavier, picking himself off the floor with only hands and arms to do so.  He placed a booted foot on the crippled man's back and stepped him down to the carpet once more.  'Your battle for harmony will be in ruins when you cannot contain my ascension – I've returned from the dead, like Lazarus, and my power shall be absolute in time.  I won't let the world forget my name – I_shall_not_wander into the darkness, to have simply disappeared once you and your lackeys defeated me.'

Charles put strength into rising again, and sat, supported on his bottom.  'You've come back wrong, Erik… don't let anyone know you're a fool again.'

Magneto squeezed his clenched fists at the remark, his anger at this tormenter increasing.  The window pane shattered into splinters and glass fragments, showering Charles's cowering body.  The light fittings popped and crackled instantly and the grand chandelier just above his body cascaded downwards.  It would have crushed him too, if Magneto had not whisked it sideways through the office door with a wave of his hand.  This clamour might be enough to rouse my students, and for god's sake I hope they're experienced enough, Charles prayed silently.  He watched the minor display, and turned to the imperceptive monstrosity his friend had become.  'If you make a play for power on the world again, you can only incur the wrath of a billion angry people – humans who will threaten your very life!'  He shouted, desperately seeking some method of escape.  

'I shall settle their dispute,' Magneto responded, lowering his power on the Mansion room 'or they_will_be_decimated by my hands.'

'Tell me where my son and daughter are, I require them to stand by my side, not cower as children would.'  He demanded.

'You found me didn't you?  Can you not locate them in a similar manner?'  Charles responded, buying time for himself.

'How ever you brainwashed them, Xavier, I want them with me – I shall get you to tell me now, or later; it makes no difference.' 

Despairing at this hopeless surprise encounter, Charles took his eyes of the letter-opener pointing outwards from his ruined wooden desk.  He willed it at the adversary's open body, but at the last instant, Magneto caught the blade with his power ahead of his jugular vein.  Glaring at his frantic insolence, Magneto flung the sharp object into Charles's left forearm.  The Professor yelled out physically as well as his telepathically flaring in anguish.  'You betray me again?'  He asked.

The books lodged on every shelf in the office suddenly wobbled in synchronicity, and blew off, whirling around the room.  

At that moment, Bobby and Hank jumped through the door, only to recoil in sickening astonishment at Magneto's phoenix-inspired reincarnation.  Attempting to surmount their fear and shock, Bobby issued a coating of slushy ice into the room.  His act of bravery backfired though as Magneto willed the negating force of his powers over himself and hurled the two mutants through the entrance, taking half the wooden structure of splinters and bricks with them in the blast.  As the splayed abundance of book pages, torn paper and ice flung itself everywhere, Magneto rose into the air, carrying the extricated Xavier with him.  

'Professor!  Where are you taking him?'  Tessa called, appearing with her fellow X-Men at the ruined office entrance.  

'Leave now, before he levels the entire Mansion!'  Charles breathed out amid the blood-leaking pain stabbing in his arm.  'You can get your chance later…'

Magneto turned to the students in mid-air, his face flooding with recalled memories of their betrayal to the mutant race.  'You will help to obliterate a nation if you adhere to his dejected aspirations, fellow mutants, so I implore you to choose wisely!'

'Taking into account your methods of conveying your particular dictator message and the way in which you plan to combat the world, it's no surprise Xavier went against you!'  Hank retorted, joining the ranks of his friends.  'We have not intention of siding with your doomed statements!'

'Curious that my statements are apparently preordained and condemned when I stand before you once more in my almighty dignity – while you, Doctor McCoy have been altered by the very people you plan to protect!'  Magneto described, coming closer to them.  

'You know nothing about me!'  Hank shouted, forgetting his investment suddenly with the others.  He had hit a personal fragment of memory, and it affected his judgment.  

'I know more about you than you care to admit, and that's what makes _me_ your most appropriate ally;' Magneto announced 'you need never be judged by an ignorant society ever again – fall into my open arms…'

A cracking explosion shook the entire Mansion floor as the lobby doors split apart with the force of a small bomb.  Stunned by the intrusion, and thinking it a result of his lowered guard, Magneto flung the students away from him and raised the stapled carpet up from the floor and into the office entrance, blocking the view.  'Take me now… Erik, let us leave before they strike you down.'

Rebuking him with a single look of disdain, Magneto returned his scornful opinion.  'They could never do that to me, Charles.'

Crawling through the burnt wreckage defiantly, Sabretooth, Mystique and a newly resurfaced face whom the students weren't too thrilled to see made an entrance.  Picking themselves off the floor, they were as shocked and reviled as their adversaries were vicious.  'Spaskyich – Jesus!  What the hell are you doing with them?'  Hank roared, his memories of their time at Weapon X flooding into mind at the sight of this walking curse. 

'You worthless little bastards!'  Hawk responded, holding his ground and ready for their retribution.  'I hope ya learnt something under my care, and are gonna show me how good you really are!'   

Ignoring the banter, Sabretooth leapt for Hank and Warren, the two who had stood against him in the hospital only hours before.  He charged, baring his sharp teeth and flailing trademark claws.  His vigour and aggression renewed, he would provide more than enough of a battle for them.  Mystique engaged Ororo by hand, but was knocked back with an aggressive launch from Tessa, fully energised by the tense encounter with Magneto moments ago.  

'Grab the Grey girl, and leave!'  The shape-shifter announced, spitting away traces of stray blood.  She blocked several strikes from Tessa, and then stopped the woman from using her telepathic prowess with a swift kick to the solar plexus.  Sensing the resulting chaos, though not quite sure of who to take on, Kurt teleported from the melee and appeared in the office as Magneto prepared to depart.  He flashed his yellow eyes in response to the Professor's pleas, but the blocking carpet, raised behind him tore in half as Victor Creed launched through.  Kurt spun around but was knocked down as the fearless feral animal ripped at Magneto's legs.  Charles reached out with his mind and stopped the terrorist further to more damage, but the man took his vengeance and produced a blast over Sabretooth's clinging body.  'I have had enough of your petty ambitions to destroy each other!'  He roared striding through to the skirmishing lobby as Victor lay temporarily paralysed with the effects on his metal-enforced skeleton.  

Spaskyich had been the last tyrant to enter looking for Jean Grey, and even though he didn't know why, his captors accepted the fact that he was willing to do his previous protégés damage.  Allowing him to stay on, Mystique hadn't bargained on such a powerful foe being among them, but Magneto was here now, and part of a fruitless tussle that would yield no profitable turnout.  He smashed Hank and Bobby down, preparing to maliciously take on the Professor, lying helpless some distance away.  Unexpectedly Magneto flared in anger, and his result rendered most of the scrambling mutants useless.  He manipulated the iron present in every drop of blood flowing through their bodies and held them suspended in the dusty air.  'You all fight amongst yourselves, neither one ready to make the perpetual transition from lackey to representative of the mutant race – you are as useless and non-existent as the slumbering, stupid, ineffectual little children the Homo Sapiens all are!'

'You've got no right to take Charles from us; you're just using him to validate your actions!'

'I have every right!'  Magneto clenched his palm, and his hold over the skirmishers tightened painfully.  'He is my political prisoner, and however you understand the situation with your limited insight, he will never become a martyr for his cause.'  

Bloodthirsty and demented as Sabretooth was, he wasn't about to take on the mind that crippled him only moments ago, instead he aimed for the one man taking charge, so his actions might tip the balance of power.  Thrusting a hand deep into Magneto's back, he felt the lord's might crumble, and with it his control.  'Neither will you, pal, now get lost, before I rip you apart!'

Freed from their bondage and sent crashing to the floor via gravity, Spaskyich was the first to get up; he hit several more adjusting students, and leapt for Magneto's downed body.  Mystique picked up the ex-Commander's discarded gun, and aimed it for the inhabitants of the school.  'Let us take him _instead of the Grey girl.'  She indicated to their common enemy._

Suddenly Sabretooth was flung through the remaining wall and Spaskyich, without his protection of weapons and allies was rendered helpless.  'Never again!'  Magneto screeched.  He brought up his faltering power and shot through the roof of the Mansion, shattering the structured joists and roof tiles.  Instantly, Charles was carted along with him, leaving the three intruders and a bewildered, panicking set of students in disarray.  'Professor!'  Ororo called, attempting to fly after them.  Sabretooth, reviving from the momentary paralysis, clasped her ankle and hauled her to the floor brutally as Hank and Bobby set on him.  Kitty phased through Mystique's arm and knocked her aim off as a bullet passed harmlessly into the floor.  Taking advantage of the abrupt situation, Tessa levitated the weapon and threw it out of reach while Kitty passed into Mystique again, and dragged her arms out of harm's way.  Mystique yelled high-pitched threats, but quickly appeared as a replica of Kitty Pryde's body.  Thrown off by the immaculate distraction, Kitty let go and became whole again as Mystique receded toward the entrance.  Failing in their task to retrieve the telepath, Jean, she would ensure they all left in moderate conditions – Spaskyich included.  Although the man had no qualms over letting mutants serve as assassins and slaves, he had some experience among them, and knew how to combat the talented ones such as the X-Men.   

Hurling Bobby and Hank off him in a hail of showering ice, Sabretooth darted rapidly out of the entrance in a flurry of spattering blood and material, and then bolted for the Mansion gates.  Mystique reacted likewise, and then watched as Spaskyich followed.  As soon as they had arrived, they withdrew, leaving nothing but devastation and hopeless integrity for the X-Men to retain.  The only one left standing, Kitty helped Bobby, Warren and Hank up as Tessa checked the outside to certify their absence.  Kurt crawled painfully in from the remains of the office and helped Ororo to her strained feet.  'I might have caught up with them and pleaded our case…'  Ororo complained despairingly.  She clutched her ankle and groaned.  

'They're gone for now.'  Tessa explained, lost for words among this tragic event.  Not only were they already separated in number, but without a centre leader to guide them, the X-Men had no hope to counter Magneto's moves.  

'Before Magneto showed up, I saw something going on outside.  I was coming down to tell the Professor, but then all the commotion started.  I couldn't announce it until now, but I think I saw Logan being courted by the Acolytes…'  Bobby described, nursing a bruised jaw.  

'Was he being dragged off with them, or did he go willingly?'  Tessa asked.

'I can't be sure, but it looked like they were taking him back – he didn't put up much of a fight from where I saw it.'

'Then we can assume that he's under their control once more.  That's all we need, isn't it?'  Tessa said angrily.  'How do we take on all these different enemies – I thought our troubles were over…'

'You knew about Magneto didn't you?'  Warren interjected, facing Tessa's seated form.  'Charles knew, and so did you – so therefore you kept it a secret?  What did you think was gonna happen?'

Tessa succumbed to his prying eyes, and nodded sadly.  'I reprimanded him, but Charles was adamant on stating Magneto's death.  He told me that Erik was the man that was left, and I couldn't talk to him thereafter.  I was too ashamed.'

'You should have included us.'  Warren scolded.  'We had a right to know – what are all these builders going to think when they see the Mansion ruined?  What will we do without any knowledge of Charles's location, or the fact that we have no leader?'

'You cannot blame her, Warren – the Professor wanted his protection concealed for his reasons.  In his unawareness, maybe, he knew best what to do.  It simply turned for the worst.'  Ororo said.

'I shouldn't be the subject of your goddamn troubles, Wings – find fault with Xavier if you want, but not me!'  Tessa retorted uncompromisingly.  'You're not perfect, if you can see that bruise forming under your right cheek.'

'Neither are you!  We could have been more prepared for his assault if you'd gone against Xavier's foolish judgement and simply confided in your teammates!  I'm disappointed in you…'  Warren shouted, stepping to the wrecked lobby entrance.  The moon shone brightly in the open evening sky, the stars just poking through the dark blue canvas expanse.  Its simplicity taunted their complications and catches.  

'Well I just live for your approval, Mr Worthington.'  Tessa replied offensively.  'I didn't realise you knew more about this place and how it ran than I!  If you're so bloody clever, you find them, and fly off on your way!'

Warren gave an insolent glower to her while the others looked on in quiet disbelief.  He shook his head, and stepped out of the remains of the Mansion.  She watched his departure, her rage mounting on an angry expression.  

'We're lucky we have you to keep this team together, Tessa.'  Hank said sarcastically.  He ducked out of the broken area and left their presence.  

Only now was the worst time the X-Men could encounter mutiny and defiance among its wavering ranks.  Before night fell completely, the remaining students gathered their belongings and fled the tired premises.  Splitting up, but hoping to gather when Scott and Jean arrived home, they went their separate ways for the evening.


	7. assassins, cons and rapists

Writer: Rowland Wells

_Disclaimer:  I am in no way any part of Marvel Comics or any affiliation of their enterprise.  I do not own the X-Men or any Marvel Characters.  _

Alternate 

X-Men 

#18

"assassins, cons and rapists"

Many people had been prepared to accept a mutant society when the concept came into public knowledge.  Everybody was aware of freaks among a culture; people who dressed differently, people with abnormalities and physically debilitating diseases, and especially people with different skin colour to that of the majority.  Just because those standouts were apparent, it didn't mean that all and sundry had to endure their presence.  Brought over from Africa via the prospering slave trade, and welcomed into simple servitude, people with darker skin colour than that of their masters were regarded as worthless; mere commodities to be exchanged for money and time.  At that era in the world's naivety, it was considered perfectly customary to treat blacks as though they had no value, no respect and no thoughts or perspectives.  Only when the people among the white masses decided to listen, just to exercise their constitutional or legally asserted rights, did they realise their mistakes and atrocities on an unwanted nation.  Everyone was aware of the Holocaust only decades before, and the crusades and assorted religious wars all brought about through abhorrence of diversity, yet still the majority preferred to accept the current state of affairs as though it were acceptable.  The people who listened to speakers such as Malcolm X and Martin Luther King, Mohandas Ghandi and the Dalai Lama all learnt from their past regressions.  Equal Rights bills were passed; people were allowed to visit schools, churches and even military barracks that previously a bigoted set of nations had disallowed access to, strictly through the nature of divergence.  This only occurred through the acceptance of not only the minority themselves, but the small portion of the majority whose sympathy paved the way for an equivalent and fulfilled world.  

Following the dissolution of their unreasonable and tenuous chauvinisms, the bigoted population of many of the integrated countries receded into non-existence, and by the late nineteenth century, had utterly dissolved.  Only in the darkest of obscure pockets in several developed countries could the prejudices still be discovered, held strong by die-hard fanatics who may not have asserted their opinions, but supported them with baseless precision nonetheless.  Limited skirmishes in the middle-eastern countries, among other sections of the globe where affluent orders groped at a peoples' faith, dominated much of the racism that still existed toward the beginning of the twentieth century.  Only through pre-nuclear conflict could these nations settle disputes over land and philosophies, and it seemed truly pathetic of humankind that in five thousand years of civilisation and hostilities that the epicentre of the entire race's problems still lay in the same site, under discussion backed with armaments ready to purge the Earth of its plagued populous two hundred and fifty million times over.  

And just as the varying peoples were put under the scrutiny of the whole world mere decades and millennia before, so to were mutants.  They arrived through the evolution of a species – the Homo Sapiens – which was not governed by the omnipotent supremacy and acumen of a god, but by the Spartan human mind and body, ready to advance through the limited stages of a mindless parasite into a blossoming superior being.  Many were unprepared for the insurgence of a new race upon which stress and strife would be heaped by the select and governed masses, but unlike the African descendants shipped over to the new world in previous years, this generation of enlightened humankind could stomach the hard pill of Homo Sapiens Superior.  

The only difficulty those mutants involved encountered though, was _the refusal to accept their presence under public analysis_.

                                                *        *        *

With the swift and unexpected exit of Charles Xavier, the builders set to reconstruct the remains of the Mansion were no longer under his litigious control.  Already, he had managed to telepathically convince the Salem Center community that the estate was a giant collective for Jehovah's Witnesses, and since the workers had arrived to take care of the mess after Weapon X's raid, Charles had reinforced the suggestion on them.  It had worked for the most part effectively, but now he was too far out of range to even maintain a tenuous grasp on their weak minds.  Luckily, every student attending the grounds had departed after Magneto's rebirth and subsequent skirmish in the main halls, so the threat of suspicion and racist violence from the workers was limited to non-threatening astonishment.  As soon as they arrived at eight o'clock in the morning, the Mansion's broken entrance greeted their uninfluenced gazes.  The lobby was completely wrecked, and part of the repaired roof had been blown apart due to Magneto's harsh departure.  Newly pasted wallpaper was burnt off, walls had been severely dented, or in the case of Xavier's office, utterly demolished.  Bullet holes lay in the woodwork, while both banisters on the main staircase were shattered.  Evidence of blood and flesh wounds was littered along the plush carpet, stained grey with trampled dirt and grass.  Giving each other looks of perplexing and horrified wonder, the numerous builders progressed further into the archaic building's depths to find set futuristic pieces dotted underneath the ground floors.  The war room, which seemed to them untouched [_even though they had been the ones to rebuild it_], was buzzing with excitement, and everywhere, monitoring stations popped up through hidden wall compartments or in dislocated offices.  Thankfully, they had no encounter with the one student who had remained despite her fellows taking a leave of absence from the Mansion.  Betsy stayed sleeping the entire time they wandered over the grounds, thankfully never waking to chance upon their prying and anxious eyes.  It would have been one fight that she could not have one.  Almost an army of construction workers were enlisted to aid in the Mansion's decoration, and Betsy would've had no time to fend off such a legion.  Instead, they bypassed the medical ward, and finally regrouped on the front steps of the lobby exterior.  Stupefied glances to one another eventually beggared the simple question: what was happening here?

After much discussion and a final check over the estate to ensure the residents were absent, the builders concluded that it must be a mutant terrorist training facility, located in one of the most unlikely places in New York.  Some of the group examined the equipment, the documents and secret places hidden in the dated interior exhaustively before coming to that conclusion, but as inconceivable as it all seemed, they had no choice but to accept the blatant truth.  

Being a part of his fortuitously-gained company for a day, the relatively young and ambitious Graydon Creed decided to be present for his current client, Charles Xavier and his decaying family Mansion grounds.  He was here to discuss the funding which the client's assistant Tessa Niles had not been able to do.  Interestingly though, Graydon and his employees stumbled upon the element of the Mansion which Charles had tried so hard to conceal.  It was with good reason, as Charles was unaware of Graydon Creed's lucrative financial power and his bigoted deportment on the mutant population existing on North American soil.  If he had known of the true nature of his workers' employment earlier, then the operation would have ceased to be immediately.  Fanatical to the point of extreme violence in his prejudices and right-wing hatred propaganda, Graydon Creed secretly formed and led a faction of anti-mutant activists known to the world at large as the Friends of Humanity.  He had two identities in his warped and bitter life; one existing as an economic and media-exposed mogul, overseeing a large construction corporation and various entrepreneur realms, and the other as the narrow-minded, prominent tyrant directing a malevolent, fear-fuelled incarnation of a giant lynch-mob dedicated to ruining mutant lives.  Many times, he had seen the two aspects as interchangeable: great potential over less fortunate circumstances seemed to be his forte.  

His initial and pleasant emergence was at once diluted with the establishment of the facilities within the Mansion grounds.  Arriving to talk about the nature of the funding with Xavier was substituted with the immediate loathing and revulsion at such a colony of vermin infesting the nearby serene landscapes of New York's suburban counties.  Creed was outright appalled that such a place even existed, let alone in the heart of North America.  During his reign at the head of his private mob, he had encountered many a secluded nest of mutants, hiding from persecution, and had done his best to swiftly and effectively obliterate them, without the alerting of any authorities.  In Graydon's previous experience, it was more appropriate to act without the aid of any supervision save his own, and dispatch unwanted mutants like vigilantes; with stealth and storm.  Furious to such a degree, he mounted the stage-like steps outside the lobby and held an audience among his cronies and workmen.  Some were a part of his higher cause, and others felt no such attachment unless a wave of warm nausea threatened to overtake them.  

'My comrades,' he addressed the crowd in a pinstripe suit and immaculate haircut 'before you, stands a testament to mutant resilience – a convent for the specific training of and housing of mutant terrorists; right in the centre of Maine!  How such a monstrosity has occurred, don't ask me, but I'll sure as hell maintain that it will not last in our presence for long…'

Cheers circled the crowding people, several of them gracefully opting out of the hateful propaganda.

'We can only assume that this is the work of the one Charles Xavier – the same man who is our client and employer.  Lest we stamp out his hold on these mutant menaces occupying the very land on which we all dwell, they would surely overrun us!'

Graydon straightened his back, watching the swelling aggression, and allowing a thin, cruel smile to surface on his flawless face.  

'How could we have been so blind?'  He asked them, his rhetoric building in the process.  'We had been bewitched by the devil of the pack that resides here, and now his rose-tinted glasses have been lifted from your heads, you are free to cast judgment on them yourselves.'

A voice called from the quagmire of people, interrogating the leader's forceful comments.  'How do we know they aren't peaceful – the same mutants that saved our President?'

Instead of picking the man out, Graydon addressed his lackey's earnestly, and assured them of the evil intent.  'You all saw why the Sentinels were produced – our old U.S leader, Oval U.N Baxteridge was assassinated before the gathered peoples of Dallas!  The current President, the fool that he is, thought he might trust the lesser of two evils – the mutants that prevented Magneto's struggle for domination still ended up demolishing half of Washington City!  How can anyone justify their place in our developed and civilised society?  Mutants are vermin, and therefore are in line for extermination!'  He projected his open hand across the expanse of the Mansion's great walls and shouted.  'As such, we will destroy this hole in the ground for all it is worth!'

Despite the irrationality of the situation, Graydon Creed's motives seemed all too reasonable.  Many of his followers were ready to rally to his cause and validate the resulting punishment.  It was an all too human reaction, which several of them might have been excused for, if ever put on trial.

                                                *        *        *

An idyllic new morning graced the horizon just above the ring of active volcanoes circling the Savage land.  The sun beamed out its welcoming radiance at the resurrection of the contained world's master Magneto, and his reinstated place at the top of his proud fortress Avalon.  Not a cloud in the sky, the blue canvas hailed the greeting as well, letting the prehistoric birds and new-age flyers adorn the high air alike in unmindful joviality.  Such a sight met with Cortez's gaze on most dawns, but this was the only one different since his charge as head of Magneto's followers.  He had relinquished control over the throne, glad to embrace the majesty of his and the Acolytes' initial master.  The cornered world had altered since its governor abandoned it many weeks ago, changing into more of a hidden community of private societies instead of a warring nation.  Cortez had decided to maintain the sanctity of the land until it could once again rise in might and unleash the pent-up fury holed up behind secluded walls.  

Obsessed with his superiority over the human powers of the globe, Cortez arranged for Magneto's return almost as soon as they realised Xavier had consumed his mind.  The faded memories were relatively easy to emerge using Fabian's own mutant ability to heal and manipulate matter on a molecular basis.  He also possessed the power to catalyse latent abilities somewhat, and utilised this to bring about the recall in the old man's mind.  What neither Magneto, nor any other Acolyte knew though, was that Cortez had reshaped the deconstructed memories present at the back of his master's head, and moulded them into something more than they actually were.  Although he wasn't quite sure what his lord fully remembered, and what still lay beyond reach, Magneto now had access to only some selected memories of his downfall, others notwithstanding.  It was exactly what he had intended to happen, and Cortez was pleased that his previous mentor had once again turned to being a despot on a nuclear scale, able to topple governments with a single wave of his vengeful hand.  Due to the effect, the master of magnetism now blamed his previous destruction entirely on Charles Xavier, and the "unprovoked" Sentinel contingency, guided by the malicious and intentionally racist North American presidency.

The integration into Avalon and its following masses had been rapid and straightforward, just as the fanatical Acolytes assumed, but Cortez was always at the side of his lord, ready to manipulate the information and facts, purely for his own benefit.  He resumed his position of the sycophantic lap-dog, but without the need to hang on every word, simply taking time to plot instead.  Using his ingenuity and subtle cunning, Fabian Cortez had inadvertently become the puppet master of possibly the most inconceivable dominance lurking angrily on Earth at the moment.  He took great pride in that.  Further to his total and distanced direction of Magneto, Cortez would eventually wage his eternal feud against humankind in an effort to supplant them as the dominant species on the planet.  The Acolytes had gained all the nuclear supremacy they required for such a hostile takeover, and now the simple lust for vengeance on the side of these "sympathetic" governments would be just enough to drive the populous of the Savage land over the edge.  Lashing out with the wrath of a billion snowballed injustices, they would bring the world's human leaders to their knees, only to erect a new leader among the debris.  One who could assume the rightful role, and govern their new entourage with an iron fist and an even sturdier metal determination.

Choosing to abandon his wishful, iniquitous power games until a later time, where he might indulge himself alone, Cortez walked through the halls of Avalon to arrive in Magneto's throne room.  He swished the short ponytail lock of fair hair behind his head and breezed in under the great stone archway holding the ceiling high above their heads.  He bowed, hiding the contempt he felt for the unjustified action, and straightened to greet his master's pained gaze.  Magneto sat in his regal, minimalist, marble chair, with black eyes hung heavy under his previous strain.  He had come straight to the main room after his untimely tussle with Sabretooth and the X-Men students, but the wounds bleeding over a dull grey robe told Cortez of his dismay at the encounter.  'I am hurt, Acolyte.'  He stated, groping at the gashes.  'Of course, my lord – you must suffer stress for your noble actions, it is just the way people will react to you venting your dignity among them.  They are lesser beings, and I cannot help but feel pity for them in their ignorance.'  Cortez approached his lord, knelt, and unclasped his gloves.  His hands vibrated with a strange glow, and he cast the palms above the wounds.  

The blistering ache surged into Magneto's being, and he tried to suppress a loud growl of intensifying pain.  The lesions corroded, and skin crackled and peeled under the Acolytes healing touch.  Blood set and then faded into dull marks on unblemished skin.  Magneto watched, fascinated, as the ache deadened his crying limbs, and he grasped hold of the set-in-stone chair armrests.  'Let my hands heal you, my lord, as they did my sister a long time ago.'  He circled the fingertips carefully, lovingly, but in reality, he only felt false admiration.  Whatever his master sensed of his followers, Cortez didn't care anymore.  His goal was the simple control of this former mentor in any way possible.  To let him rule the Savage land for a time would be only a mask; Magneto had been given the keys to the kingdom once, and through his overreaching lust for world equality via diplomatic and subsequent terrorism aggression, he had spat on the sanctified earth.  If he were to allow Magneto another chance in creating a perfect world for the two species to occupy, then mutants would never supersede their fragile human oppressors.  Cortez would see humanity crawl at his dominant and uncompromising pedestal, or the entire premise would burn to ashes around him.  

                                                *        *        *

Delgado herded Logan and Charles through the grand hallways of Avalon, keeping his eyes locked on the Professor's bonds.  He had Charles in his great groping palm, picked off the cell floor by the scruff of the shirt collar, and then slapped a pair of flimsy handcuffs on him.  Even though the Professor was crippled, and dissuaded from utilising his power of the mind due to Magneto's personal resistance, Charles could still use his fists, and might have if Harry hadn't intimidated him so.  Walking in front of the giant Acolyte, Logan had two hefty metal gloves securing both hands uncomfortably behind his back, and he was shoved reluctantly forward several times.  Anne Marie kept him in check with her resolute temper until they reached the throne room where Magneto sat.  Cortez grinned wickedly at the prospect of these two enemies of the state being brought before their new master, whose memory of their betrayal fuelled his wrath at the outside world.  The grand archway loomed high above their heads, and the architecture with which the room was constructed was staggeringly immaculate, considering the intention for such an edifice.  Avalon was Magneto's private power base, secluded and brooding with a magnificent arsenal and an army of fanatics stored within its bowels.  Charles was disgusted by the idea of such a capital.  The sun glared through the huge glass windows in the main hallway, shining onto the prisoner's backs as Logan was forced to kneel, while Charles was simply dropped to the floor.

The lord of the manor rose from his throne, the weight of localised pain lifting from his healed bones.  He stepped down onto the floor, his sandals tapping against the marble while his grey robe slid along the surface.  He approached Logan, whose eyes gleamed furiously up at him.  'You turncoat.'  Magneto stated, an almost indescribable level of revulsion issuing from those few words.  'You are a traitor to mutantkind; a traitor to your fellow comrades, and a traitor to your master.'

Logan stared defiantly.  'I got a better offer,' he nodded to Charles 'from him.'

Magneto grated his teeth, and whisked Logan onto his back with his influence over the metal gloves encasing his hands.  Stepping to Charles while Delgado guarded the other X-Man, Magneto knelt, still with his helmet on.  'You can't touch me.'

'Indeed I can't, Erik, but you _will_ not make me need to.'

'Don't be so arrogant!'  Cortez shouted from the throne.  'You will respect our lord while you are a guest in his house!'

Magneto glanced to his chief Acolyte quickly and then back to the Professor, who he leaned dangerously close to.  Hot breath issued onto his face.  'Before this week is over, Charles, you will become a part of this empire, whether or not you choose to.  Surely by now you must have seen the futility of resistance?  I have no wish for further loss of life, especially that of my oldest and dearest nemesis.'

                                                *        *        *

Staring at Rogue while she sat with Remy in the cold cell, oblivious, Mystique waited outside for her company to arrive.  She played with the bolt on the door, idly sliding it in and out of the housings.  It was rusted over with bronze grit similar to the same compound that was consuming the walls, floors and ceiling of the entire building.  Rainwater had leaked in at every possible nook and cranny in the construction, gradually staining the structure until it resembled the Tower of London's arcane dungeons.  It was an infested rat's nest, located on the outskirts of New York City, near the harbours, but for the time being it was what the shape-shifting mutant called shelter.  Her yellow eyes penetrated the darkness of the cell through the sight gap at the top of the door, and she gazed as both sat trembling in the dripping greyness.  She heard footsteps approaching, and turned to see Sabretooth escorting a cabal of technophiles, eccentric, manic professors and mutant bodyguards through the badly-lit underground halls.  She left the gap open, and stepped out of the way as her associates replaced the view with their eyes.  A towering figure strode behind the others, stopping outside the cell next to the two incarcerated mutants.  His breathing quickened audibly, and he panted with excitement at his future prospects.  Glancing to a scruffy Sabretooth, Mystique stepped hesitantly over to the towering figure.  'To your satisfaction?'  She enquired.

His black eyes span to her, and he gave a devious grin of pleasure.  He then signalled to the group gathering outside Rogue and Remy's cell, and let Sabretooth grapple open the thick iron door.  The scientists fluttered out of the way, each one agitated by the repulsive, claustrophobic atmosphere.  It not only concealed them from the outside world, but cramped their emotions and anxieties, forcing the nervousness to linger like a stench in the dank air.  They backed off to the wall, as Rogue and Remy were struck to their knees.  Sabretooth clasped a clawed paw around each neck, threatening to snap at the first instance.  

The towering figure approached them, his shadowed form shaking and waving for everyone to witness.  His grey, dulled skin tone met their gazes, and a hand shot out for Remy's dirty shirt.  He plucked the Cajun off the puddle-littered floor and held him to his face.  Dead, black eyes met with enlivened crimson-red pupils and he shook Remy with contempt.  'You are my new associate, LeBeau.  They say you are a thief – I shall believe so.'  He spoke with a guttural drawl to his voice, but the accent was one of an educated man; regal, in its own right.  'Non, mon ami – I no villain fo' anyone.'

Dropping Remy into the puddle discourteously, the figure stared straight ahead.  'Somebody shot you, but you are not hurt anymore.'

Remy glared at the obvious red indentation stuck in the centre of the giant man's dull grey forehead.  'Same can't be said 'bout you.'  He replied brashly.

'Your union with The Thieves Guild indicates differently.  Adopted by the great LeBeau family, you are one of its remaining family members, and I realise that you have offered quite the services to such an organisation.  The only question that beggars contemplation now is whether or not you choose to operate solely for my benefit; or should I turn you over to our mutual acquaintances, the Donna family?'  The man looked at his prize, awaiting the obvious answer.  'I shall ensure you steal, maim, rob, cripple and kill for us instead of those pathetic small-town French swamp rats.  Do we have an understanding?'

Rogue glared angrily at the Cajun, before Sabretooth bowed her head again.  

'Do you have something to add, my dear?'  He asked, observing Rogue's reactions.  'Your connection with him,' he indicated to Remy 'is not without its mysteries.  Would you like to have them revealed for all to see?'

Rogue scowled, but Sabretooth batted a fist across her neck and she slumped to the floor.  Remy struggled to his feet, but the man rested his large hand around his neck in a rather bizarre yet paternal manner.  'You care for her, I can see.  Do as I ask, or I shall positively terminate the young girl's life.'

'Screw ya!'  Remy yelled, grating his jaw for the sinister figure to see.

'Now now,' the man responded spitefully, stroking the Cajun's neck with a cold palm 'is that any way to speak to your new and only ally?'

                                                *        *        *

Magneto tightened his hold on Charles's body, suspended in the air through his metallic cuffs.  He was quickly losing patience with the Professor's refusal to accept the current state of affairs within the Savage land domain.  Fingers clenched close to a fist, and his power ebbed and flowed through his veins.  'Don't argue with me!'  He shouted, bringing the man to the marbled floor again.  'Your presence here is a plague; I should have foreseen such a disaster!'  

Charles gurgled out a cough as he hit the stone, and crumpled.  His battle of intellectual justification for Magneto's warring intentions was swinging his way, and even though the man was rapidly losing his temper, it would only cement the aspect of Charles's superiority in his adversary's mind.  The Acolytes stood, circling the display in the middle of Avalon's proud structure.  Logan was crouched underneath Delgado's slow-moving shadow, and he toyed quietly with the gloves that trapped his clawed hands in their grip.  'What has happened to you, Erik – those memories of yours, they have been assembled incorrectly; you're not the man I once knew – just a spectre, a wraith remaining, who cannot seem to rationalize the fury that has welled up inside.'

'My state is the direct result of your interference in world affairs, where you would side with the enemy, only to let your friend take the punishment alone!'  Magneto responded spitefully.  He turned his back on the scene, recollecting his thoughts which were flustering in the argument.  The numbness in his limbs was still present, but the wounds themselves had repaired under Cortez's influence.  It had sapped more from him that he presumed to manipulate Charles's body in such a manner, but it was a mere and simple action; nothing to be concerned about.

'That is your inaccuracy Erik, it is not a matter of "_sides_"; humans themselves are not your enemy, only the people who would control them!'  Charles validated, throwing away the inhibitions for his safety among the opposition.

'You don't seriously believe that – I know you don't Xavier!  It has always been clear-cut – black and white – more than ever in our day and age.  You cannot certify humanity's actions just as much as they cannot certify yours and mine!'

'Then why try to put them on trial by exercising your apparent intellectual supremacy over them?'

'Because, like you and I already have been; they _must_ now be accountable for their gross misconduct in the face of the blatant truth!  It is not enough that these weakling individuals graze pastures all their lives, oblivious and without being answerable for crimes to nation that rightfully belong at the top of the evolutionary hill.  I cannot stand idly by while we are butchered in the streets and cities for being solely what we are!'

'Neither shall humankind!  That is why they retaliated in such a way – because you asserted your apparent supremacy over their world…'  Charles sighed dejectedly.  'Individuals cannot be responsible for a mob mentality.'

'Then your ineffectual unit of X-children means nothing for your ideology, does it?  If individuals won't be answerable for their crimes when in a group, then you cannot justify defeating my cause and war in Washington, can you?  Your intentions, Charles, brought about the most climactic injustice ever witnessed by a race.  You took out the one true voice that had enough might to alert the world of its wrongs.'

'You were not there to "alert the world", Erik, you appeared on the President's front lawn for all to see, so that you might have him executed on International television!  You were the black-robed judge, the bribed and secured jury, and the zealous executioner, all in one power-mesmerised maniac.'  Charles responded, spitting his venomous retorts with warranted reason.  'We defeated you and only you, Erik!  That is the crux of the matter!  My "mob" was brought together to combat the evils of the world in my place.  A collective succeeded in the job far more easily than I would have done by myself.  We are now the only chance to inform the globe of its treatments towards mutants.  We,' he breathed out a pent-up sigh of relief 'are the future of mutantkind.'

Magneto leaned to the floored Xavier, crouching on his haunches.  'To bury your head in the sand?  Shake hands with men who cannot control their own divisions and armaments?  Create peace with a people that hate and despise you?  Perhaps you are content with the low road for the future of our species, Charles, but I will enforce our stay here, and what is more – I will make a statement so plain and simple, that even a child will comprehend the nature of discrimination.  No-one can convince me otherwise; not even you.'  

Nodding to his Acolytes, Magneto stood triumphantly and walked over to the view from his throne room.  Verdant homelands met his withered eyes, and he bowed his head in solemn promise to the mutant offspring of the evolving Earth.

'The self-styled lord of the jungle – a voice for a race – this man isn't a saviour, a messiah!  He's possessed with a superiority complex, and haunted by the nightmares of Auschwitz and the Holocaust!  He is only dreaming, and you are all buying into it – humankind themselves, like every other aspect affected on a human nature, cannot be forced to accept something, however crucial _or trivial!  The impact of variation will not settle if fear is introduced into the open wounds, you must engage a peace process – filter the anxiety out until nothing is left but open arms!'  Charles exclaimed to his Acolyte captors.  He was being dragged away in the arms of Delgado, while the Cortez sister accompanied him.  Her uncompromising, revolted stare thrashed against his bare and unprotected face.  'Your sentiments are those of a weakling, Xavier – no wonder you have never understood the bigger scene.  Trying to eke out a meagre existence among people who run at first sight – how is it possible to accept their insanity?'  She asked._

'I don't have to accept it at face value – that aspect of human nature, though it seems to have eluded you, is present in all of us.  Just look to your master Magneto for his great lack of understanding of the human condition.'  He replied, exhausted.

'We don't have to; mutants are an altogether more advanced species, whose condition betters humanity in every respect.  An all too human sympathy for a lesser species is what separates our dream from yours, Xavier.'  

Anne Marie remained adamant while she led him back to his quarters.

                                                *        *        *

'Give me a name, mon ami, 'fore I serve you.'  Remy asked standing in the rain-soaked muddy flooring of the warehouse's underbelly.  He waited, staring at the figure while the scientists gathered behind him, ready to have their greatest feature unveiled.  Rogue was hoisted to her feet by Mystique, but Sabretooth shoved her back into the cell roughly, stepping in after her.  He slammed the door shut while the towering figure thrust the revolving bolt open on the next cell door.  Staring incredulously at his previous shelter, Remy suddenly felt a sharp and hefty point reach onto his spine, and froze while Mystique's pistol kept his focus on his new master.  

The door slid open, grating against the dirt-covered floor, and as the light inched through the gaps, Spaskyich was standing still in the centre of his prison.  The towering figure stepped out of the way while several scientists flooded in through the door to check on their specimen.  Excited, comical chattering issued from inside and Spaskyich waded through the mass to the corridor outside.  In a bizarre spectacle, the monitoring men backed off, and the large, gruff Texan was left to wonder.  He looked to Remy, leering deviously, and then to Mystique.  Finally his gaze fell on the towering figure who strode toward him menacingly.  'Who the hell are you?'  He raised the question, looking the giant up and down.  Remy regarded the distanced interaction, noticing the unrealised familiarity between the two.  

'Doctor!'  The figure growled sinisterly.  'I am Doctor Nathaniel Essex, Commander Spaskyich, and I believe you are owed for your gift to me!'

A hand shot out as Hawk had time to squirm uncomfortably, but the grasp incapacitated the Texan before he could even struggle.  He wormed in Essex's grip, squealing like a stuck pig.  'Take him away!'  He tossed the man to the scientists, and nodded to Mystique.  Repositioning the gun from Remy's unprotected back, to Hawk's lame body, she squeezed the trigger and let a bullet loose.  It impacted in a spectacular blossoming flower of blood and tissue on the side of Spaskyich's skull, leaving the ex-Commander on the puddle-laden floor.  The scientists screeched as their clothes were coated in a fine spraying sheen of crimson, and Essex shot them a look of obdurate intensity.  They reluctantly carted his body onto a concealed gurney while Remy reeled from the actions, standing alone in the corridor.  Sabretooth sleuthed from the shadows, and motioned the catatonic Cajun forward with a sharp jab.  

                                                *        *        *

In a secluded corner of the giant adjoining hallway, Fabian Cortez led a shackled Logan into his conversation.  Cortez's abilities alone might be enough to combat the former Acolyte-inspired mercenary if he should break free, but he was counting on the smallest crowd possible for such a surreptitious interaction.  After Magneto had dismissed them due to rising stress and anger at Charles's failing argument, Delgado and Anne Marie led the opponent away while Logan still knelt in the throne room, angry and agitated.  Practically forgetting his appearance at Avalon, Magneto bypassed his prisoner and went to his personal quarters.  Unfortunately for the feral mutant Cortez was still watching him closely, and the entire land was filled with a sea of fanatical followers, all who would recognise him at first sight as one of the biggest traitors to their ruler and the mutant cause.  Forgoing his future punishment at such treacherous activities, Cortez decided to use their disposable assassin for more of a perfidious nature.  

A falsely warm smile greeted Logan's haggard looks, and he sneered as the Spaniard sported the three lined cuts across his chin from their earlier mortal engagement.  Cortez lifted a hand with a thin paper file in it, and waved the documents under Logan's nose.  He grinned as the man recognised the name tag stuck to the top of the material.  'You know what this is.'  He said, opening the file himself and gracing its written words and pictures with his own eyes.  Logan shifted uncomfortably in his bonds, and stared out of the huge glass windows displaying the Savage land before them.  It was not long ago he was brought here as a guest for a particular job, but having defied that job, and its intentions, he was here now as a traitor in handcuffs.  It sickened him on some level, knowing that he might have prevented this mistake if only his good heart had not reached out to Rogue and Remy, the two lost causes who had probably abandoned New York already.  

'It's very important this – you might even say it's a key to who you are.'  Cortez chided.  He leafed through it further.

Logan knew what he was holding; it was a small inch of paper, just part of a much greater collection of everything that detailed his life before and during the Weapon X operations.  It contained lost memory fragments on the Department H contingency in Canada, the names of Doctors, Nurses and twisted scientists that all worked on him while under the care of his previous mentors.  It would mention the fellow operatives, the missions, the training and all sorts of miniscule details.  Hawk Spaskyich was in there somewhere, but as Logan rightly assumed, everything within that document was fragmented, and would ultimately lead him no closer to the truth about his past than thinking about it all would.

'Give it to me then, pal.'  He replied.

'Not yet, Wolverine.  Not yet.'  Cortez placed his hands behind his back, and straightened.  'First you must do something for Magneto – a requirement that was originally in your contract, but which you clearly didn't achieve.  _Or couldn't maybe, I can't recall how you put it outside the Mansion grounds.'_

Logan eyed him dubiously, and wondered if the devil was going to solicit exactly what he was thinking.

'I want you to wipe out the rest of the X-Men.'

'Sure!'  Logan jumped, grinning.  'Why of course I will!'

Cortez smiled wanly, and then gave the arrogant pig a quick strike across the jaw.  Logan stumbled over onto his back, his full attention on the dangerously maniacal Acolyte.  'Ya better watch yourself there bub, 'cos at the first chance, I'm gonna gut you like a goddamn fish.'  He spurted out, spitting away a glob of blood and saliva.  It landed on the polished toe-cap of Cortez's right boot.  'How amusing this is your only retort.'  Cortez cracked the boot down on Logan's ribs, wiping the speck away in a mess of torn clothes.  'If you don't do what I command, then our lord Magneto is going to tear the very metal that is bonded to those useless bones of yours out of the skin that shields it, and you will be parading our grounds looking like a storm drain for the rest of your life.'

'My healing factor makes up fo' ya boss's futility, though, _Fabian_, so I doubt I'll be lookin' like that for long.'  Logan responded, sitting up and wincing from the force on his chest.

'You can't resist all of us put together, Wolverine, even if you are the "world's deadliest merc".  We will rip you apart, and leave nothing behind but some adamantium-laced bones for the vicious vultures to pick over.  Besides,' he finished, flicking through the file for display once more 'who would want to read this if you're not present anymore.'


	8. posted eviction notice

Writer: Rowland Wells

_Disclaimer:  I am in no way any part of Marvel Comics or any affiliation of their enterprise.  I do not own the X-Men or any Marvel Characters.  _

Alternate 

X-Men 

#19

"posted eviction notice"

The stationed cameras all positioned within the blue room of the Whitehouse focussed on the President striding purposefully to the large bank of microphones placed for this national address.  The announcer who had stood at the same pedestal only moments before went aside and motioned for the proud leader to welcome the press conference.  Glancing cautiously at the leagues of reporters, politicians, Whitehouse attendants and photographers, McCormick Johnston let nothing show on his stern and austere features.  On the podium, while flashlights buzzed left and right like fireflies, he waved to the audience and beamed a procedurally smile ahead of gripping the stand tightly.  Both wrists faced inwards; he was informed by his staff that the crowd would make more of an effort to trust him in such a stature.  He cleared his throat, and silently prayed the security was tightened at every entrance and corridor within the historic building.  

'My fellow Americans,' he began, looking at the tiny speech cue cards placed on the stand for him 'this is a time in which two distinct peoples of our fair nation will inevitably clash on the same grounds and on the same earth.  Mutants – Homo Sapiens Superior – are an emerging evolutionary branch of humankind that exists alongside ourselves, and although many of us may regard them as separate beings that live in our cities, our neighbourhoods and buildings, I can assure you that they present no danger solely in their differences.  The way in which mutants are dissimilar to human beings is in the actions of a select few.  The nature of their activities does not itself define the race to which the actions evolve from – the same way that humankind can not be expected to be judged by mutants for the methods that only a few people may use against them.  I cannot stress this principle enough, because as much as history has taught us; our very human nature allows this fickle aspect to filter through the surface no matter how many times the same distinction may have been repeated in the past.  It is part of the human condition.'  He looked out to the crowd, watching for muddled reactions to a controversial address.

'Now I am present today to elaborate on the rumours of a mutant gang war issuing forth from the heart of the Bronx, New York City.  Only days ago, did uproar escalate on the highway stretch entering the area, and it was subsequently rocked with explosions and catastrophe.  Just over an hour later Bronx County General had its ground floor torn out by rogue terrorists seeking to create political unrest among the mutant situation on the East coast.  These examples of behaviour are one-offs, and do not reflect the beliefs and conduct of mutantkind in general.  Anyone who has heard of these events and has already prejudged the presence of mutants among us in a negative respect is gravely mistaken for no few can speak for the general public of a society.'  He paused, letting the information seep in as several more camera flashlights flicked onto his raised form.  'And that is what they are – a society that has blended with ours to form a united front within one country.  We cannot allow for media hype and spiralling hypocrisy to percolate into our heads when the axiom of the circumstances is right in front of our eyes.  We live in a day and age of mutual understanding and intellectual comprehension – where one man can make a difference in his life, and be allowed to live peacefully without threat of persecution and discriminative bullying, regardless of nationality, skin colour, spoken language or disability.  Mutants are affected by these same elements themselves, and as long as they exist in this country and under my political protection, then I shall see to it that they are treated with the same respect and due diligence that we Homo Sapiens are.  Because of the threats coming from terror actions in the heartland of one of our proudest cities, we cannot label a nation for which we have no authority to do so over.  Humans and mutants who step out of line to combat each other's concern will only have the law, order and me included to answer to.  No-one is above the authorities in America.'

It had been a historic speech, he thought, still standing stock-still while the sweat welled down his arms and back.  Talking about the mutant threat is the hardest political discussion and therefore trap to fall into – I can never allow myself to show fear in the face of an overwhelming situation, he continued, staring out at the people as they reeled from the lecture.  Hands shot in the air, cameras whirred and flashlights went off as the reporters decided to have a field day on this newest confirmation of mutant acceptance.  McCormick Johnston caught sight of one right hand of a well-know reporter fly up for attention.

'Harris Casio for the New York Times; upon reflection of this new-found _sympathy_, Sir, what is your opinion now of the Mutant Registration Act that was so swiftly implemented once it became international knowledge of mutant existence, and therefore the threat of unparalleled danger that accompanies it?'

The President smiled on his surface expression.  'The Mutant Registration Act is still in effect.' 

                                                *        *        *

He had been trained for these kind of procedures a thousand times before, and granted, he couldn't quite recall the precise moments where such tutorage had occurred, but breaking into his home estate was no different from sawing his way out of the Weapon X installation weeks earlier.  It would require stealth and agility not to trigger the alarms and gun batteries Xavier had lodged in the green grass of the lawns, but if he were to cross a trip-wire, then the entire barracks of 1407 Graymalkin Lane would come at him with everything they had.  

Logan's absence from the students was sure to cause unrest once he met up with them again.  They would view his departure in the middle of Weapon X's trauma as abandonment, and therefore betrayal as he took none of them with him.  It would be a harsh lesson, trying to teach them that he left for fear of a repeated torture, and that his escape could have obviously only entailed him, but he hoped that enough of a sense-knocking session with each would allow his presence back into the ranks of Xavier's elite.  What Logan didn't place money on was the fact that he would be assumed as a criminal – a corroborator of the Acolytes madly fanatical cause, which would lead to a harsh show-down and a rather brutal and pointless tussle.  

He was in prime condition still; all scars had healed, wounds had joined together, and it was difficult to tell whether he had been splashed along the highway, skewered, crushed and burnt all within the past two days.  Dark hair brushed back into a spiked helm, he brushed the dust off his clothes, and stalked up the road leading to Graymalkin Lane.  Cortez's mission concept had been clear-cut for Logan to see, but it wasn't as if he was going to listen to the demented lap-dog Spaniard, even if his words were backed with Magneto's powerful threats.  Logan was arriving back at the Mansion to warn the students of the impending disaster that could escalate into another confrontation on the Whitehouse lawn.  His fear for the worst could be one of the only things to aid the X-Men in this future struggle that no-one could predict the full outcome of.  However Logan viewed it in his mind's eye, nothing short of a nuclear winter or secondary holocaust could satisfy both sides of this unending evolutionary debate.  He may not have been the sharpest knife in the drawer, but Logan knew when to look for help.  

He had done this before, he remembered, when breaking into the Mansion's grounds for the first time.  It had been tough, but not impossible, and with the Professor not actually present, such a task shouldn't present a formidable challenge.  Hoisting his frame over the main brick wall, a shocking sight captured Logan's full attention.  What the hell has gutted this place?  He wondered, staring at the scene of a still half-devastated Mansion.  Logan had, of course, not been looking over the walls when he was at the same spot only the evening before, and ahead of Sabretooth's assault weeks earlier, Logan had never realised the Mansion had been destroyed by the Weapon X operatives.  He grimaced angrily, and stopped straddling the brick wall as his body landed on the grass below.  

The overcast sky couldn't illuminate his body as it flitted in between the border-lining trees with ease.  He sniffed the air, coming close to the main path, and recognised the scents of familiar faces and people just at the steps outside the Mansion's lobby.  His eyes picked out almost every student present, but he kept low.  Jean and Scott scrambled out of his newly-repaired red Porsche to greet everyone there, but sad expressions and dismayed faces were all they could see.  From his vantage point, Logan made out the wreckage lining the cracked walls and smashed windows; it almost added to the antiquated ambience of the estate's dated exterior, but not quite.  This better go to plan, he hoped, stepping out into the light.  Leafed shadows receded on his body, and he walked toward them, hands raised slightly for all to observe.  

                                                *        *        *

The clamour of the two teenager's homecoming was abruptly interrupted as an old face made an appearance on the scene of a dishevelled Mansion grounds, and a depressed crowd of students without a teacher.  The momentary happiness from convivial joy broke, and Tessa was the first to speak.  Her opinion of Logan's actions was at rock bottom, but the fact was he still deserved a chance to explain, even if she had already made up her mind, and concluded a judgement.  'Hold it.'  She intoned, placing a hand at her temple.  Jean and Scott swivelled around to gaze at Logan's nonchalant expression.  It was a face long remembered, but not without pain and regret.  'I ain't gonna "hold it" darlin', it's about time I showed up to incite some more angst around you lot.'  Saying such a sentence to potential enemies who might show him no quarter for his previous abandonment might not have been the best idea for Logan to come up with, and he was starting to feel like he had been an ass again.  Still on edge from this irritable reunion, the hyper-sensitive mutant caught the scent of a highly familiar body in the same area who he couldn't quite associate with the Mansion.  'Wait a damn minute, 'fore ya'll jump to a conclusion about me.'  He stated, raising his palms as an anticipated white flag.  The scent became suddenly much stronger, and immediately he caught sight of a flaring orange card being hurled toward the huddled students.  Barely having time to register the impacting explosion designed to disorientate and scatter, Logan splashed to the pebbled path in a flurry of unexpected excitement.  

Scott's red Porsche spluttered quietly, and then the bonnet sprung open, striking the standing teenager as he attempted to recompose himself after the lightening interruption.  Shocked, and thinking the fireworks a result of Logan's estranged bitterness, Tessa flung out a bubble around the feral mutant, trapping him in stasis.  'Pin him down!  He's responsible for this, and we aren't going to let you go now Wolverine!'  She yelled to Kurt and Bobby, assembling themselves on the broken lobby steps.  Another flash-bang burst rocked those same steps, and both mutants tumbled off in a haze.  'Get me out of here; you're making a mistake – Tessa!'  Logan cried, unable to fully twist or turn in the invisible vice.  Kurt teleported from his floored position on the snapped concrete and to Logan's suspended body; he hit, eventually pulling them both toward the dirt below while the German vanished before impact.  Their expected enemy scrambled to his feet while Jean was left dazed and confused in the explosive display.  Logan managed to see a blurred form leap from the shadows and dash towards the dispersed brawl.  'Gambit – get the hell back, or I'm gonna spike you with all six!  Don't make me, you unruly bastard!'  Logan howled, popping each claw.  

'Monsieur, I beg t'differ –'  Remy whisked another card from the deck in his jacket pocket and deposited a charged blast straight into his former-ally's chest.  

Jean propelled the two quarrelling mutants onto their backs while Hank and Ororo emerged from the Mansion lobby with Betsy in tow.  All three bore witness to this jumbled melee of entangled bodies and blasts amid a wailing, high-pitched whine of the alarm system.  'Oh my god it's Logan – we have to help against him, Hank!  You know he's a one-man army!'  Ororo shouted.  She attempted to gust herself into the air with a bellowing torrent of wind while Hank leapt into the fray.  An explosion mushroomed into the air as Scott's red Porsche blossomed into death, and Betsy endeavoured to contain it in a psychically enforced bubble while it threw Ororo out of her hovering pattern.  Jumping to his feet, Scott flicked off his ruby glasses and unleashed a full-force blast into Logan's rising form.  'Stay away from us Logan, or I'm going to send you into the goddamn afterlife!'  

The students stood back and gazed at this sudden and vengeful display of imposed will power.  Caught by surprise, but with the purchase of a lowered body position, Logan managed to take the hit well despite being hurled into the front wall of the Mansion.  A shower of bricks and mortar coated Kitty and Bobby, but Betsy prevented the worst of the outcome with her strong mind regardless of her damaged physical condition.  A resonating roar echoed about the estate as Logan's scream cut through the crowded mutants.  'Son of a bitch…'  Scott muttered angrily, grabbing for his glasses.  

'Look out!'  Jean called out of panic as Remy struck a sharp blow across Scott's back, bringing him to his knees.  'Your pardon, mes braves, mais je veut à en demeurer là.'  The devilish-smiling Cajun flicked out another card at Jean's feet and it blew her clear off-balance.  He flashed another grin at the mutants as they protected themselves from the blast, and proceeded to scoop the redhead up in his jacketed arms.  Her insensibility made it much easier to egress in his manner, but that still couldn't stop Logan from making an effort in chasing the swamp rat.  'Jean!'  He yelled, shrugging the dust and dirt from his exhaustedly bruised shoulders.  'I ain't gonna let you slip away a second time – I'm coming after you!'  

'Like hell you are!'  Scott screamed, supporting himself on the burnt car bonnet.  He gripped the bridge of his glasses delicately.  'I bet I speak for everyone here, Logan, when I say that you're off the goddamn team!'  Ripping the protective barrier away from his eyes, the red beam flowed forth into the scattered area.  Ducking reflexively, Logan managed to twist out of the way, all the while the escaping Remy and Jean in his sights.  'Take it to someone who gives a shit!'  He cried slamming three extended claws through Scott's left arm.  

Wincing with the sudden agony of cutting impact, Scott staggered into a wounded heap.  'Fuck you Summers!'  Logan retorted, gazing into his opponents crippled features.  Scott sobbed, and grappled hold of his glasses once more, venting a thorough blast of destruction through Logan's wretched face.  The mutant dodged as the beam struck over the Mansion's roof tiles.  An ample cascade of disjointed, hardened material flooded over the balconies, and Kitty barely had time to leap for Bobby's unflinching form before it coated their unprotected bodies.  Kurt managed to escape with Betsy in his arms, but the resounding stone crash of falling rubble masked the nearing roar of hurtling police car sirens.  Only did Ororo witness the arriving flurry of dazzling red-on-blue lights from her suspended vantage point.  'Cops!'  She barely had time to cry; a launched net was propelled from the stopping barrage of law-enforcers and its tangled clinch tossed her delicate body from the air.  Hank managed to catch her, but that left Logan free for his timely exit as the alternative action.  

Choosing his moment carefully, he gave Scott one last despising look of petulance ahead of about-turning and fleeing for the unguarded high brick walls of his entrance.  Tessa took steps following him, but stopped short of the main pebble pathway the coursed toward the disembowelled Mansion itself.  A riot of police vehicles burst through the closed iron gates and skidded to a halt just short of the muddled crowd.  Scott let it be; his injury was too severe to leave the wound open while his dash kept him secure.  The armoured men jumped out of their wheeled cages in a torrent of garbled radio speech.  Guns flashed and shields glimmered even in the overcast half-light of the dismal morning.  'Don't move!  You're all under arrest for causing public disturbance!'  The leader announced.

Tessa threw another bubble up around the separated mutants as the lawmen sprung to a lively alert.  Assisting their escape, Bobby strode from the roof rubble and managed to materialise a wall of arctic-white solid ice before them.  Reacting sooner than they anticipated, the mutants scrambled to the desecrated lobby and into the Mansion as the ice shattered with a resonating thud of a small explosion.  Nets were hurled from roof-top guns on each swat van but missed their targets; bullets pinged and shattered segments of brick wall and broken-down rubble.  

Kurt grabbed for Betsy's half-immobile body, but she shook his hand off.  

* Let me be – save yourself first. *  She called in his mind.

'Ich verstche nicht…'  He responded somewhat detached and letting her go as he leapt through the entrance, hoped to evade the fresh onslaught.  

'X-Men move!'  Hank screamed, bouncing off walls with Ororo still in arms.  They tumbled down the smashed and battered corridors while the ever-gaining thump of police footsteps chased them to their exhausted end.  Adrenalin coursed through every vein at lightening speed as the mutant procession surged through the Mansion.  A line shot for the danger room in the basement, and the stairs would be the only option to fit all of them on.  An elevator might snap if they all got in.  The lights burst and popped as the power was cut on the outside of the Mansion grounds, but Hank and Tessa at the front knew the grounds better than anyone present.  Flashlights blared behind them, and Bobby, who was bringing up the rear, flooded the passages with slippery-smooth ice.  His actions paid off as a stumbling, sliding mass of black-armoured bodies piled up behind them.  

The mutants tunnelled further into the bowels of the Mansion, attempting to escape the inevitable capture, while each became progressively more exhausted.  Machine gun spitfire echoed through the halls, and Kitty and Bobby just managed to escape a dazzling display of power as it burst the corner apart just before them.  More darkness enveloped their escaping forms as the staircase came into view.  Tessa skidded to a stop at the locked door, typing frantically at a keypad half damaged from the power cut.  'Come on, they're right behind us!'  Hank yelled, placing Ororo on her feet once more.  

'I can't get the blasted door to open – it's stuck for the loss of power.  Help me with it.'  She replied, the sweat pouring off her.  Hank threw his fist straight into the controls, it the door clanged open.  'Do it like that, or don't do it at all…'  He muttered, bouncing down the flight of steps like a blue ball.  The rest of the mutants plummeted down after him as the strobe light dazzle effects of a million flitting flashlights shrouded their escaping forms.  

Arms groped out from the huddling mass of captors and Kitty felt herself slipping from the rest of the running group.  She screamed as the grasp fastened on her shoulder, and Bobby was just fast enough to fling the rapists backwards with a flooding stream of solid ice.  A tranquilliser dart embedded itself in his ribs, and Kitty hauled herself away.  'Bobby, don't you dare die on me!'  She called, tears welling in her eyes as the mutant stumbled over.  He mumbled something inaudible in the thump of crashing black boots, but she couldn't hear, and was able to just phase herself through the floor as more hands reached out for a mutant face.  

Slamming backwards and forwards down the reinforced staircase steps, Hank and Tessa came to an abrupt stop as Kitty laid unconscious on the floor just in front, a long, thin dart hanging from her neck.  Hank hoisted her into his great grip, and they ran on into the ominously challenging danger room.  Ororo took to the air in the wide expanse but paused as the double doors opposite "pinged" open, and another cabal of armoured cops took up position.  A megaphone screech echoed through the giant room, and the announcer told them to stand down.  'Stop where you are, or we _will be forced to fire – without remorse!'  Giving up the fight, and accepting the fevered police pursuit wholly, Hank placed Kitty carefully on the floor, and protruded his wrists to be cuffed.  Sharp teeth and a disgusted leer greeted the lawmen's gazes as two sets of manacles were attached to Hank's arms while the other's enjoyed the same fate.  An arm leeched onto Kurt's agitated form, and Tessa projected a thought directly to his mind.  * Don't try anything – they already have Scott and Betsy. * _

'I finally understand your world.'  Kurt replied, speaking out in English.

                                                *        *        *

'Goddamn, what the hell made those marks?'  The paramedic exclaimed, hooking an IV line into Scott's bloody vein.  The Doctor behind him on this ride-along looked over at Betsy's face, gradually recollecting the images of a fight scene not long ago in which the same girl felt the sting of ten extended nails in each shoulder.  She appeared to look much better, even if the injuries were sustained only a few days before, but the pain still showed on the young woman's exterior.  'Claws; they're made by three claws straight into his left arm.'  Cecilia Reyes replied as the ambulance jostled left and right along the highway and toward the nearest hospital.  

The captured students had been loaded into swat vans and police cars, which were currently thundering along the same stretch of black tarmac used by Logan and Sabretooth only days earlier.  Night time had descended on this part of the world, and the evening air couldn't penetrate the interior of each cold carrying package that ferried a mutant to the security-enforced jailhouses in New York City.  It wasn't enough that Jean had been captured and Logan allowed his escape without judgement for his crimes, but now everyone was in custody.  Everyone, except for Warren who had gone back to his apartment in Washington, and Piotr, who was due back that same evening from Moscow.

                                                *        *        *

Stars glimmered idyllically in the dark blue sky miles above the peaks of every skyscraper in New York.  The reflected the serenity of the everlasting expanse beyond Earth, and hinted at something more supreme at work in the universe than anyone could ever comprehend.  These stars seemed like shining beacons in the night, radiating the promise of hope to those who stared hard enough.  Right now, one man was hoping against hope that his concentration on other aspects of the atmosphere around him would help to focus his mind and not deter his determination in performing his next act of power.  With his feet firmly planted on Terra Firma, Piotr Nikolaievitch Rasputin gazed up at the blue-black space and told himself to stand still.  In the flesh, he was positioned on the centre of the black road tarmac on the main highway, practically inviting the oncoming traffic into his body.  Earlier, he had seen the breaking news reports of a raid on a newly discovered mutant terrorist colony in the heart of suburban Westchester County.  Having immediately come off the arriving plane, he was more than disturbed to see his old comrades on the five o'clock news on every channel.  Taking matters into his own hands, Piotr deposited his luggage at the airport lockers for safekeeping, and then ascertained the next moves of the police captors.  He might be able to dissuade them just enough to free the students, but for a tall Siberian farmhand, it was a little risky to be dabbling in the affairs of another country's law-enforcement techniques.  So he figured not to talk to the police, but try something else.  What have I got to lose?  Only my sanity and strength… whatever happens, I can never say I didn't try and pursue Xavier's dream to the full extent, he thought, focussing his mind on the abandoned stretch of motorway road.  The route led into the city, bypassing the jammed crowds of lit-up casinos, bars, clubs and hotels as well as the street crime, sluggish cars and hordes of tourists.  Never mind myself, I must think for the family first, and then exact my revenge upon a certain man at a later date, he thought.

Off in the distance, the approaching headlight beams ballooned over the horizon of dark highway, cutting into the shadows that fell over a desolate length of road.  The rising thump and shudder of a hundred million wheels revolving repeatedly in the long convoy resonated underneath Piotr's feet, and he began to sweat.  Nervousness crept through his body, and he started to turn his skin into the hardened organic metal that his mutation allowed.  Standing astride the tarmac a well over six feet tall, he had become a living, breathing, steel colossus, bracing himself for the speeding impact of the cop-cars and swat-vans that was rapidly enveloping his field of view.

                                                *        *        *

'Do you remember me?  I was the only one left to help you after Sabretooth was frightened off – your shoulders, they seem to have repaired themselves rather nicely after his mauled you.'  Cecilia said performing on Scott's bleeding wounds while the ambulance drove behind the train of cars.  She placed platted black hair behind her ear, and looked up at Betsy again.  'He's going to be alright, you know, we just need to get him to the hospital.  Whoever did this didn't mean to kill him.'

Betsy gazed back and nodded silently.  'It was Logan – whatever we do as a team here, he ends up wrecking it all.  A freelance mercenary bastard is what he is.  Nothing but trouble is left in his wake.'  Her eyes wondered tenderly over Scott, lying half-unconscious on the collapsed gurney.  Gazing back to her newfound companion, Betsy studied her features meticulously, just daring to survey the swirling thoughts of the woman before conversing any further.  A particular string of consciousness caught her attention.

'I don't know who that is…'  The Doctor turned her back for several more supplies behind her on the shelves.

* You were coming to take a look at the Mansion – why didn't you make the journey in the end? *

Cecilia jumped, and stared at Betsy, alarmed.  The voice had seemingly gone off inside her mind, being able to speak solely to her, while she was powerless not to listen.  'What did you just do?  I swear you spoke up.'

* Don't alert him, or the driver, I don't want them panicking while we do a hundred and ten down this motorway. * Betsy nodded to the paramedic, who seemed obliviously analysing Scott's cuts and bruises.

There was a cry for help abruptly, so high-pitched and with such urgency that it cut through the backseat passengers' concentration like knives.  Betsy was too shocked by the alarm to invade the driver's mind, instead, instinctively opting to grab hold of the seat she was on.  It did no good though in the swift shake and topple that took the ambulance by surprise.  

All throughout the child-like motion of tumbling the driver emitted his loud yell of fear while Cecilia braced the sliding gurney with all her inner strength.  The swerving wave along the road managed to tip the ambulance onto its side, and each piece of equipment within the rig began to fly out of its hold and circle the inside space with almost puppet-like manipulation.  The paramedic with them was flung to the wall that was coming dangerously close to the racing ground, and clattering equipment spun into his paralysed body while Cecilia hit the gurney with considerable force.  Managing to secure some type of hold on a nearby handle, Betsy grabbed for Scott's waking form, but the motion made her lurch forward, tearing fresh pain into the old wounds received from Sabretooth.  She let go of the handle as the ambulance finally flicked onto its side and scraped at unimaginable speed along the blackened concrete.

                                                *        *        *

Elsewhere, the leading cars and vans of the procession screeched to an all too late stop, as Piotr hurled himself into their structures at a terrific pace.  His determination and focus thrashed through reams of metal composition while clenched fists broke apart the very chassis of each car.  More of the vehicles careened into the piling blockade of stopped and crushed machinery and the very ground they were on shook with resonating explosions that dented the highway construction.  Headlights popped and blared powerfully into the night atmosphere at hideous angles while the cars they belonged to were flipped and thrown by Piotr's monstrous power.  Crashing, grinding, grating and scraping metal splashed along the tarmac as the following vehicles slowed and tipped over to prevent lethal impact with the stockade ahead.  

Roaring with adrenalin-fuelled aggression and vigour, Piotr threw his huge body mass directly into the main swat van's toppled bonnet, spilling machine parts and leaking fluids everywhere.  Screeching tires echoed throughout the city, and it wasn't long either before whirring helicopter blades of orbiting news reporters issued into the night sky.  Sirens radiated noisily, and the barrage of armed, angry swat men increased suddenly as the able ones escaped the claustrophobic damage of crushed carriers.  

Pulled from his exploits by the realisation of city-wide distress and alert, Piotr faced the new threat of the lawmen as they turned on their attacker with considerable retribution.  Taking the gathered beatings well, Piotr waded through the raining bullets and swiped the men clear from his path to the nearest vans.  Gruff shouting and screaming echoed past radio receivers and into the air as the cops jumped out of their wrecked cars.  The men assembled themselves around Piotr, trying to grapple him down, but his giant size merely slowed at the task in hand while they were subsequently thrown off him.  Working himself into a fit of rage at their unending consistency, his two tree-trunk metal arms mauled at the side of an abandoned swat car.  He hoisted it above his head while they scattered, and then slammed it down the length of the road.  The crash exploded mightily, and the resulting smoke cloud tipped the hovering helicopters out of view.  

                                                *        *        *

Tessa perched on the hard metal shelf of the van's interior with a gun in her face, and another at Kurt's.  She squirmed uneasily as the constant banging continued outside, and screams of tumultuous panic radiated along the motorway.  Being one of the last vehicles to slow, their truck had survived the pile-up, but that allowed the swat members to secure their prisoners without fear of escape.  Tessa shifted and looked by her side at Kurt, who was shaking for fear of the impending disaster.  She tried releasing some endorphins into his brain, quelling the increasing fright, but he was becoming like a caged animal.  Had she not been through so much, her reaction, she surmised, would have been the same.  'Hold on, we're going to come out of this alive.  We've still got tricks up our sleeves…'  

The man opposite her jostled his weapon offensively and silenced her with a stare.  'Keep ya mouth shut, mutie, or I'll shoot it off.'

An enormous bursting crash of torn metal hit their ears from just outside the van, and the roof of another parked car was split open like a banana.  Cries for help went up, but the sickening thud and stomp of breaking bones quieted them.  Unexpectedly, a large dent appeared at their side, the reinforced interior creaking under tremendous and sudden strain.  It coughed and sighed, trying to bend back into place as the impacted body slumped off its surface.  Kurt took that disturbed moment to swing his manacled legs up to the two guards.  'Follow my lead!  Mein Gott –'  He shouted in sudden alarm as they raised their guns in malice.  His flexible toes wrapped around the muzzle of the first weapon, while the raised gun about to fire off its lethal slug was knocked off kilter by his thin, angled, black tail.  The fire resulted in a gaping hole just between the two cuffed mutants, and Kurt managed to spring the grasped weapon back, so the guard holding it struck against the inside of the van.  Displaying a toothy grin even amid such a ruckus, Kurt peered through the hole and then teleported from his bonds and reappeared just outside, without them.  Immediately he took in the scene, his senses went into overload.  Fright and terror speared through his soul even as Piotr crushed many of the police cars under heavy hands.  Checking the van once more, he teleported in front of Tessa, touched her face with dark hands, and both materialised on the exterior.  The two guards fumbled out of the back, but the raven-black haired woman was quick enough to toss them away with a wave of her slender hand.  

                                                *        *        *

Cecilia clambered from the escaped equipment currently deposited all over the left wall of the ambulance, and barked out a string of obscenities.  She brushed loose hair from her face, and offered a hand to a struggling purple-haired young Briton.  'God only knows what just hit us – the entire convoy must have gone down from what we heard outside.'  She bent down and studied Scott who seemed delirious and oblivious to the destructive treatment their captors were receiving from Piotr's anger.  'We've secured the bleeding, but he won't last long in a fit state if we can't get him to a hospital.'

'How do we get out of here?'  Betsy chanted painfully.

Abruptly, her prayer was answered, but hardly in the way anticipated.  A gigantic bulge bore into the ambulance's exit doors, shattering both windows and compressing the compartment unbearably.  The walls cushioned inwards and the scraping, warping white noise of busting equipment popped in their ears.  Forgetting herself in all the ensuing chaos, Betsy backed away, tugging at Scott's immobile body while Cecilia tried to regain her composure in the tightening situation.  The space cramped unbelievably, and they might have all been pressed to death if the Doctor had not saved their lives a second time.  Focussing intently while the cramp continued, Cecilia projected a visible barrier outwards, holding the structure from his seemingly inevitable embrace.  'Get out the side – take the driver and paramedic with you, you can't afford to have more casualties in this stupid fight!'  She shouted, containing their only hope with her concentration.  Betsy clambered over the front seats, dragging Scott achingly with her.  His weight on her torn shoulder muscles forced many a cry from her lips, but she managed to shove the upturned driver door open.  Using her slightly honed telekinetic prowess and ingenuity, she raised herself slightly from the gravity-defying position and levitated Scott and herself out from the devastated ambulance.  A further focus of her mind brought the unconscious driver out, but she had trouble locking onto the paramedic's body.  Her thoughts were becoming excruciatingly strained with the effort, and before she could aid the downed serviceman, she passed out.  

Cecilia could hold the impending crush no longer; she screeched, and forced her barrier through the upturned floor.  Axels snapped and wheels popped from their holdings as the metal infrastructure slowly groaned and then tore apart with her sheer willpower.  With a final, near climactic yell, she pushed her way through, and fell out the other side as the weight on top crumpled into the ambulance centre.  Looking up at her near-death cause, she gasped, and saw one of the swat vans turned completely upside down.  

                                                *        *        *

Taking his time in figuring out a plan of attack, Bobby felt rudely interrupted as his still sleepy brain was aroused by the insane stunts occurring just metres ahead.  He was cuffed in the back of a cop car, thankfully not hit by the stuttering blockade in front.  Taking a minute to register his surroundings, and the fact that Piotr, the burly Russian addition to the X-Men was catalysing these surreal movie-inspired events; Bobby managed to spill out a confused sentence.  'Sometimes, I cannot believe how screwed up our team is.'

'Shut the hell up, you little sod – it's because of you, our buddies are getting killed out there!'  The lawman behind the wheel retaliated.  He flicked around, facing the youngster.  'I aught to shoot you right now – save the jury decidin' that you're already a threat to society.  I keep telling the wife, the only good mutant is a dead one.'

Bobby sneered painfully at him, raising his hands to the wire mesh in plea.  'You wouldn't dare, pig.'

The cop riding shotgun slapped his arm against the barrier.  'You mouth off like that, and we just might.  Shut up, and sit tight.'

Bobby looked over to the cup of coffee, nestled idly on the dashboard of the car while all around, scenes of violence and devastation rained.  Men flew across the windscreen, and bullets spat into the air as Piotr thrashed wildly about, attempting to rescue his friends from their unjust incarceration.  

Contemplating the idea, Bobby stared at the coffee; it was lukewarm, yet still moistening the air around it.  Using his talents for manipulation of the cold, Bobby spread a spiralling surface of ice up from the coffee's vapours.  The policemen seemed too intent on watching the action from a distance to notice.  When they did, it was too late.  Freezing ice, courtesy of Bobby bloomed into existence within the front part of the car, and surrounded the two men.  They yelped in surprise, and then tried to leap from the confines of their cold prison, but Bobby was unyielding.  He enveloped them, and allowed for a long plume to issue through the mesh.  Using the narrow width of the ice, he held his cuffs up to the tip until the click of success brightened his face.  'Stay frosty there, guys.'  He chuckled, blasting the door next to him open with a fat barrage of his power.  

                                                *        *        *

Hauling a desperate Kitty from the undercarriage of an overturned cop car, Piotr let go, and she managed to materialise on the road effectively.  A grin of devious mischief plastered on her face, she stood back as her Russian beau took care of the oncoming swat van arriving from the other direction.  The assaulting mutants were becoming surrounded on both sides as more and more enforcers sped in from the depths of the city, all alerted via the numerous helicopters hovering like angry flies around the stretch of motorway.  Their floodlights illuminated the ground perfectly, and it was almost as if the students were brawling in midday.  

Falling back after too heavy a punishment, Piotr sank to his knees by Kitty's side.  'I can't take much more of this...  They are attacking from both sides, and I haven't even found Jean, Hank or Ororo yet.'  He panted out his exertion, partially fading his steel form to the original skin one underneath.  The menace of the invading lawmen grouped around the area, setting off flares and sirens once more.  'Jesus, don't go back now, we have to evade the authorities or we'll be gunned down in the streets.'

'I know, goddamn it.'  He clambered to his feet, shielded by the overturned structure of the van.  Gleaming metal radiated out from his body, and he became a force of will anew.  'I have learnt something of my cousin, Kitty.'  He breathed tiredly through hissing teeth.  'We have to find Fabian Cortez.'

She grabbed his arm panic-stricken.  'He's in the Savage land, with everyone else, Piotr, but that's not important now!  God, we have to run.  Don't you get it?  We'll be shot if we stay here, and not even you can survive a .45 to the forehead in your real body!'

An explosion of smoky effervescence rocked the body of the collapsed van, and Kitty would have been thrown forward if not for her instinctual ability.  The helicopters shouted down rioting commands through whining megaphones, but everyone below seemed oblivious to the constant information, instead opting to focus on the tragic chaos before them.

                                                *        *        *

Smashing through the debris with only her mind as the weapon, Tessa quickly dispersed the wreckage, to find a locked door of the back of a swat van.  The men had disappeared, hoping to find their medals and honour by hunting down Piotr's rampaging act, but they had left behind an unguarded treasure.  Signalling the receiving X-Man on the other side, Tessa backed away as the doors buckled under immense stress.  Freeing themselves from restricted confines, Hank pulled Ororo through the gap with a strong arm, and she managed to concentrate hard enough, calling down a thick fog that darkened the already obscured light.  The helicopters weren't prepared for the unnerving atmospheric conditions and began to disperse.  The haze covered everything around the hectic stretch of road, blanketing the lawmen and mutants alike.  In the mist, the students became separated, desperate to escape the closing forces.  Kurt and Tessa bailed out from the unguarded entrance to the fog along the road in the opposite direction to the city, while Bobby was quick to group with a newly discovered Hank and Ororo.

'I hear some more technologically sound helicopters approaching.'  Hank said, ducking amid the downed wreckage to avoid piercing swat-men stares.  'I think it's safe to assume they might be the FBI or even SHIELD.'

The grey fog was slowly lifting, but it kept the mutants secluded for the time being.  The deafening roar of rotor blades passed over them and landed a little after the beginning of the palisade, ready to unload the prepared troops.  

'I can't maintain this condition for long…'  Ororo whined, crouching alongside her fellows.  'Our means of escape – I'd like not to be the only one asking where the hell they are.'

'The side of this elevated bridge – if we can climb down, we might be able to take cover among the buildings, and find a little shelter before the hunter's track us down.'  Hank said.  He peered out from behind the seclusion, and waded through the spreading fog.  Searchlights speared into the greyness, seeking out the inhuman presence among all the discarded vehicles.  Ahead of encountering further resistance, Hank took Ororo and Bobby by the hands, and wrenched them over the side of the highway.  As he was about to make the leap himself, a hand lurched out behind him, grabbing a blue furred shoulder and holding steady.  He spun around to face Cecilia, lost in the fog.  'Take me with you; I was going to join up anyway.'  She gasped, the exertion of her search showing through.  

'We might not exist as a team after much more of this treatment, Doctor.'

'I can hack that possibility, but I need to hold onto something after what happened in the hospital… I can't explain it, but this is the move that makes the most sense right now; even if it's totally ridiculous.'  She threw her arms around his neck, and in a fluid motion, Hank gripped the concrete side, and launched his large mass over.  

                                                *        *        *

The hazardous mess that decorated one of the main roads leading to a complex and fattened city was stretched for nearly half a mile along its surface by the time the chaos started to close.  The smoke and fog previously billowing around the night sky was rapidly being sucked through many whirling rotor blades, and eventually the terrain cleared.  Search beams and flashing floodlights lit up the atmosphere incredibly beautifully, creating a serene and somehow detached post-war television coverage spectacle for Americans to witness and gape at during all their favourite programmes.  The entire world would know of this conflict by the next morning.

On-the-sight reporters were jostled to and fro while paramedics, soldiers and SHIELD personnel scampered around like busy ants.  Cameras recorded the very core of the fateful events, and even though the investigation began immediately, elements of the fantastic brawl were still present and some yet unaccounted for.  The lawmen had lost almost all of the mutants in captivity, and precious few results had come of trying to locate them within the suburban night life.  They had disappeared without trace, leaving only two of their kind behind.  SHIELD riot-enforcers were the first to scoop up Betsy and Scott, but before they could be interrogated and charged with any number of crimes to the state, Fury specifically ordered their delivery to a secure hospital.  

As an added bonus, one other person was plucked from the skirmish, known to have been a catalyst in its events.  Ahead of him protesting like a child in the throes of a tantrum, the SHIELD operatives placed him with a concealed unit in the city.  Fury would see to his condition and questioning personally.  Not only could this one man be the key to the entire set of events in the past weeks, but his gluttonous lust for mindless revenge and violence might lead the world to an altogether different future than the one shaped by many creative visionaries.


	9. counter

Writer: Rowland Wells

_Disclaimer:  I am in no way any part of Marvel Comics or any affiliation of their enterprise.  I do not own the X-Men or any Marvel Characters.  _

Alternate 

X-Men 

#20

"counter"

Sitting stark on the hardened wood seat of the underground interrogation room within the core of a SHIELD outpost in New York City, Sabretooth stared across at his tormentors while they poked him with a constant volley of unanswerable questions.  Taking no risks, the investigators employed for the job of questioning after the mutant was captured on the highway scene, had several riot prods and a rather large set of steel handcuffs stiffly tightened over Victor's wrists.  He was effectively pinned down in this dull grey room that he knew had seen many a beating within its walls.  Anticipating the upcoming punishment would thrill him moderately, but the humiliation of mild pain and anger without freedom to express his disproval would prove quite frustrating for him; almost distressing.  The lights were dimmed above the heads of his interrogators, concealing their identity, but what seemed like a massive flood of glowing brilliance shone directly into his scarred and hairy face.  It was distracting, and quite the turn-off in these few moments of expectancy.  A quiet moan escaped his lips as the man in front brandished his tool hesitantly.  Prod my with it – I want to feel its warm greeting on my body, he thought to himself.  Shuffling while the two men orbited him, Victor closed his eyes to avoid the yellow glare.  

His body tingled momentarily as he heard the vacuum of air swish while a flailing limb cut through its denseness.  He erupted into a cold sweat, just longing for the relief he would feel once the immediate sting dispersed, and he would left with an orgasmic glow rolling out of his body.  All too unexpectedly, the grinding, perforating pain met his upper torso, and he jerked backwards in reflex.  A cry escaped him, and the riot prod was retracted after its offensiveness was complete.  Aahhh, he thought, reflecting on the sensation.  

'Enough with your muttering bull, Sabretooth – stop leading us around in circles and just tell us where you started out from.  I mean, you didn't just appear in the city, did you?'  Ed Hedge asked, switching the room tape recorder back on while he conversely turned the charged weapon off.  

'Yeah, give us a straight answer, or we'll rain down so hard, you won't know what hit you!'  The partner agreed, slamming an outstretched palm down on the secured metal table top.

Victor shook his head wearily, recovering from the disabling jolt.  He spluttered out a question.  'What was ya name again?  Just so I know when I go 'round the cemetery and shit on your grave…'

SHIELD Public Disorder Investigator David Tythe opened what was available of Sabretooth's documented files and shot him a belittling glance.  'Funny – you must have razor sharp wit for comments like that.  Excuse me if I don't find them so disparaging, but they just seem desperate and pathetic to me.  It's Dave.'

'Glad to have that under my belt.'  The chained mutant signalled, nodding his head.

'If you're not careful, I'm going to electrocute you with this, under_your_goddamn_belt.'  Ed replied menacingly.

Sabretooth shivered sarcastically, but his body still felt the reverberating waves of electric disturbance buzzing through every wired nerve of his tired body.  

'How did you recover so quick after that incident at Bronx County General a few days ago?'  Dave asked.

'Oh, you're up t'speed on that thing, ain't ya?  What, are they not telling you everything 'bout me from upstairs?  Why don't you just get someone higher up to _blow me while you figure this damn thing out on your own!'  Victor retorted, planting a smug grin on his coarse and ugly features._

Dave gave their captive another impertinent look, then motioned Ed over to the corner of the room.  Both men wore authoritative badges on their uniforms, but the truth of the matter was this blithe tête-à-tête was getting them nowhere.  Sabretooth's status as a loose threat to the nation's security, mutant or otherwise was unacceptable, but now they had him in their sights, they had nothing to charge him with.  Not yet did they know of his involvement in Hawk Spaskyich's escape from ground headquarters in Washington D.C.  

'God, how does he look at his grubby fat face in the mirror each morning?'  Dave asked, toying with a biro in his front shirt pocket.  

'If I don't like the reflection, I smash the mirror, gentlemen.'  Victor shouted, overhearing their private discussion.  He laughed stupidly to himself while the revised their options behind him.

'Alright – here's what we do to crack this son-of-a-bitch –' Ed was interrupted rolling up his sleeves for more seditious action when Captain Nick Fury breezed in through the interrogation room door.  He wore a sleek black jumpsuit, covered in reams of ammunition, miniature-sized button pockets, and strapped on equipment.  Running a hand through his greying hair, the Captain planted himself firmly opposite his captive, and cleanly swiped the room tape recorder off the table.  It clattered to the floor and Fury extended a thumb and forefinger, grasping hold of Sabretooth's jaw.  'Face me.'  He said by way of explanation.  'Give me what I deserve from you: your full attention.'

Victor nodded noncommittally and grunted out an acknowledgement.  

'No more of these pathetic, irreverent questions, I want your honest replies to the following ones instead.  If you don't, I'm not going to stop that tape recorder there, to hit you, and then put it back on.  You're under my personal jurisdiction now, and I you can receive no quarter on my behalf.  Got it?'

The mutant responded again, deciding to play a suave act while the SHIELD agents wondered around blindly for resolution.

'We know you weren't one of the captured mutants from the Xavier School, and due to your unique _stance on the students attending the premises, we know you weren't there to help them either.  So what, pray tell, were you doing there?'_

'I was getting' a closer view, boss man.  That a crime?  Sure don't seem like it last time I saw in this damn part of the country.'  He replied angrily.  It was Spaskyich's personal whim that Sabretooth be dragged back to Weapon X in the first place; for a time, Victor Creed had been taking time off in New Orleans.  He had enjoyed it there.  

Nodding to Ed Hedge, Fury commissioned a small electric burst into the spine of their ruffled friend.  Sabretooth jumped violently, but settled down as Fury's condemning stare intensified.  'You were there to join in, you ugly bastard.  Someone filled you in on all the commotion topside and you crawled from the dripping sewers only to beat on innocent law-enforcers for your own amusement.  Did you think you were making a scene, Creed?'  Fury asked, leaning toward his unbreakable opponent.  'Well I got news for you, _pal, SHIELD has eyes and ears everywhere, so we know exactly where you came from, and what you were thinking of doing.'_

'So ya'll are not as revoltingly naïve as I thought… s'good to know.'

Another piercing blast coursed into his back, and Sabretooth snarled viciously, his rage mounting to active levels.  Without his restraints, he would have leapt up and eviscerated these pompous wastrels before they'd even blinked.  Keep pushing my buttons patch-eye and I'll blind you completely, Victor thought, looking at the dark material covering the Captain's left eye.

'So why were you on the scene?  Figured for some action with the students, maybe a little brawl with the cops to get the blood pumping around the body?  Wanted_to_get_your_face on tv?'  He demanded, heatedly.

Observing the pause present between the two bitter enemies, Fury slumped back into the chair as a thought struck him.  His one eye surveyed the contents that made up Sabretooth's gaunt, yet muscular features.  Unkempt, dirty fair facial hair gathered around his face, while a newly shaved head allowed for more of a military façade showing through.  Fury shook his head in amazement as the process filtered though his mind.  Finally, after moments of contemplation while Dave and Ed wondered if he had stopped the interview, the Captain got up and walked to the side of his captive mutant.  'You were there because the news crews were orbiting the crime scene like desperate flies.  Urgh… In your foolish arrogance, you thought you might appear to be one of those students of Xavier's, just to catalyse the already pressurised boiling pot of hatred for mutantkind in this country!'  A sharp strike knocked Sabretooth off his stool, but at the precise and determined moment, the mutant leapt to his feet with astonishing agility.  He lurched, still bound, toward Fury in an act of uncontained rage, only to be flung to the wall at the last second by the combined weight of the two investigators.  Turned suddenly to brutal bodyguards, Dave Tythe and Ed Hedge beat Sabretooth repeatedly with the riot prods until they had him subdued in a dribbling mess on the cold hard floor.

Nick Fury stood over Victor's fallen head, and crouched down for more of a patronising pose.  'Everybody already despises mutants in New York – especially New York!  The site of so many Sentinel massacres!  You sly, boorish, crass, son-of-a-bitch – you assumed that showing more carnage and destruction on America's News Screens the following morning might allow for the nation to act out against mutants through sheer spite!  I cannot believe you, Victor Creed; what you attempted was beyond despicable.'

Sabretooth laughed through his saliva-caked mouth.  'Ha… but not beyond the capacity of me, huh?  Aren't I just a real piece o' work.'

Holding back no more time for this ruthless scoundrel, Fury stood from the floor, and tossed the file back to the two investigators.  'Hawk Spaskyich – tell me where he is, and we'll go easy on you for a while.  Because,' he paused for effect 'where you're going, they hate your kind.'

'And what am I?'  Sabretooth enquired.

'We have it on camera and we can locate him, but with your help… it can be made easier.  The other person you made his breakout with, though… I wouldn't mind knowing who she is.  If you cooperate, I might let you be there when we haul them in… just so they can see how much of a snake you are.'

'You can put it all up your ass, 'cos I ain't spewing my guts for you or anybody else in this feeble building.'

Saddened by the response, Fury dashed a heavy boot over the wretch's face, then turned and walked out.  Whatever happened to Val, his friend and colleague, this idiot would surely never tell.  Most likely, Sabretooth would taunt him of her death, even if it was uncertain.  

Fury made a decision to question him further, but later.  For now his prime concern, work-related and as a more private vendetta, was locating the whereabouts of the former Weapon X Commander Hawk Spaskyich.

                                                *        *        *

Hugging the long leather trench coat tighter around her small body, Kitty stepped from the door of the yellow cab onto the thick concrete curb of uptown Washington D.C.  The wind blustered slightly through the trees, asking leaves to prance amid the wavering midday air.  The breeze hit her long unrestrained hair, and she made an effort to clamp the hat down on her head lest it blow away.  The sun still hid behind the veil of grey cloud gathering over much of America, and she felt disappointed that not even the weather would perk up to enhance their awkward circumstances.  Birds twittered, but many were muted by the stream of traffic stop-starting along the roads next to them.  'There's a beautiful atmosphere around here.'  She mentioned sarcastically.  'I can literally feel the depression looming over this city, just like in every other place we've been to in the last twenty-four hours.'

Piotr straightened from the driver's rolled-down window having paid, and patted her on the back affectionately.  'Don't complain, Kitty… we have a way to go before our eyes will meet another bright morning.'  He looked around for the particular sights in his mind, and started toward them.  They were somewhere near the sights and monuments of Capital Hill, making for the organisation whose headquarters sat, concealed, among this focal point of American and International political history.  Not many people ever had a chance to see the area in their one lifetime, yet both students were here for a second in as many months.  The reparations and restorations too many buildings, parks, houses and roads were nearly complete after Magneto's exhibit of might in the heart of this fair city.  The two mutants felt it was such a shame that this was the chosen location of his final flight, as the radiance of honourable perfection was just beginning to show through once again.  

They walked through the park dividing the Washington Monument and Congress from the rest of the city, aiming for the large centre just next to it which would hopefully house their hope in finding a betraying devil, Cortez, and the leader of the X-Men.  'I must explain that I am sorry I've dragged you into this, Kitty.  It was never my intention for you and me to go it alone.  Even though Fabian Cortez and Magneto, if he is alive as you say, reside in the Savage land once more, I had intended for the team to search them out and call down the thunder as we try… now, I doubt we will be able to "reap the whirlwind" by ourselves.'  He paused, thinking of the subsequent explanations.  'What I'm trying to say, is that my exclusive right to the heads of both villains is _exclusive_; and just because I brought you along for the ride, I do not expect you to go through with these insane stunts if you would prefer not to.'

She wrapped an arm around his as they made a way into the pleasant grasslands.  'My poor mother flipped when she saw me on the Whitehouse lawn after the news put it all over paper and tv news channels.  I got such a scolding from her; I thought my ears would be ringing for weeks.  She threatened to take me out of the school too, but my charm worked wonders on her fiery Jewish spirit.'  Her kind young eyes turned to Piotr suddenly.  'The reason I stayed was because I'm an action junkie.'  She laughed at the statement, but it was made in all fairness.  'I don't want you thinking that I can't handle myself among the dangers of this world, even when they're insurmountable, and we're up against preposterous, insuperable odds.  I knew you were going for Cortez's head after what he did to your cousin, Andreyev, and I still came along.'

'We should have made the distance as a team, not lone wolves.'  Piotr replied dismayed.

'Of wolves, look at Logan – he makes his business fine as a merc, and we still hate him for it.  People sometimes have to go it alone.  We should have gone with the team, yes, but is there really a team left to go with?  And due to extenuating circumstances, I doubt any of them could have done so because we have the police chasing our tails, twenty-four seven.'  She moved the two of them onwards.  'Perhaps we should count _ourselves lucky that _we've_ evaded the authorities for this long.'_

'And now we're walking straight into the lion's den, Kitty.'  The Russian replied, following her across the park.  

'Yes – to SHIELD, where they'll ensure you exact your revenge on Cortez and everyone else stuck in that useless corner of the world.'  She said.

'This ridiculous procedure will leave us too beleaguered for anything else… I wish I'd never thought it up.'

                                                *        *        *

The sleek jet-black motorcycle came to rest in a hail of raining dust and earth as Remy skidded to an unexpected stop.  With his close monitoring of the girl practically tied to his back while he sped along the back streets of New York's suburbs, he had noticed her sporadic stirring, indicating the drug initially used on her metabolism was wearing slowly off.  Letting the hazy brown disturbance filter onto the dirty, puddle-laden ground near the warehouses, Remy loosened the strap about his chest and quickly turned to catch the girl as she slumped off in the other direction.  His foot kicked the bike rest into place, and he clambered off.  A tug at her dark helmet sprung it off, and he rested it carefully on the handle bars.  'Bonjour ma cherie.' he said delicately, stealing a kiss from her parted lips.  She awakened fully, and looked into his crimson eyes.  A confused expression lay on her face, and once she fully registered, she shot up.  'Who do you think you are?'  She yelled aggravated.  Her hand went to her temple quickly, but Remy was more rapid in springing a card from his jacket and charging it suddenly.  'I wouldn't, Ms Grey.  Y'never know where this thing could go.'  He nodded to the object in hand.  'Lower ya hand, and maybe I won't hafta hurt ya.'

Jean reluctantly stopped her physical threats, because after all, his movement in the flick of an eye would strike her, and maybe she might have enough force to deflect it with her mind, but maybe she would be to slow.  Whatever the results yielded, it wasn't worth the initial impacting agony in her chest.  'Son-of-a-bitch… why am I here?  You stupid Cajun rat!  I cannot believe you kidnapped me.  You're going to have the whole of the X-Men down your throat in a second.'

'Y'ain't seen the News then, ma cherie.  If you be lookin' at tes braves on the big screen, you see that they got their hands full from the lawmen.  Personally, I think you got the best deal outta all o' them.'  Remy replied.  He didn't intend it to be obnoxious, but for her particular situation, there was nothing else it could have come across as.  His red eyes gazed up at the warehouse's corrugated silver gate, and he called out, sure that someone on the opposite end would respond.  'I got the sassy lady right here, now open up or I'll _make my own way in_.'

Observing the rolling action as the gate reverberated and then slid upwards, Jean sighed uncomfortably.  She attempted to repress her pooling feelings of anxiety and stress, but it was working too well.  She began to sweat, and shivered fearfully as Remy prodded her with the tip of his finger.  'Make a move girl, 'cos there's people in there who be a lot worse than me.'

She scowled at him angrily, but he raised his hands in protest.  'If I hadn't o' done this, le meneur – he gonna kill my Rogue.  Y'understand, don't you?  Il devait venir après-moi.'

As she was motioned further into the recesses of the darkened warehouse her mind raced.  Already tense enough, she whirled on Remy.  'Don't ever spout that French crap at me again!'

                                                *        *        *

Graydon Creed turned around in his smooth black leather armchair to face one of his loyal officers in the Friends of Humanity.  Dressed in an immaculate dark black suit and starched white shirt, he poured the man a glass of one of his secret alcoholic beverages hidden in a small cabinet underneath his desk.  Popping an ice cube in his own, and two in the other man's, Graydon leant back in his swivel chair and took a remote control to a television set positioned in his office wall.  Without a word, he switched it on, and let the slide-show images take effect on the man's understanding of their current situation.  Pictures of the exterior of Xavier's Mansion were at most intervals, coupled with photographic shots of the damaged interior, the gardens and surrounding landscape.  Before long, Graydon flicked the set off, and placed the control back on his desk.  'What you have just seen is what greeted my Construction Company workers' eyes every morning at promptly eight o'clock, yet for all their intense and fanatical vigour as followers in the FOH, it is not what met their minds in those same days.  Something,' he sipped at his drink 'or someone possessed their minds with uncontrolled aggression, and forced them to see only what they expected to see.  Now of course, I'm not a lawyer, but in my experience as a man of the world, I might just have to call that: rape.  How exactly can we be forced to co-exist with these mutant terrorists if they won't even take off their masks in plain sight?  What _can_ be deduced from these delinquent and foolish actions though is that Charles Xavier meant for us never to find out.  For all his rhetoric and propaganda in the face of unwanted co-habitation, he didn't think we could handle the truth.'

'Well sir, it seems like you can't.'  The man responded to the speech, gulping down his drink quickly.

Graydon Creed eyed him dubiously, wondering if this was indeed the correct man for the job.  'I'm not interested as to whether _I can handle it or not; that's why I want _you_ to do something about it.  My little anonymous assisting tip-off to the New York Police Department, however malicious it might have been, proved fruitful, yet unsuccessful in the long-term.  Alright, many of the mutants were captured – and some it seems as the News put it – have died, but still their resilient testament to diversity stands.  I plan for that mansion to fall in on itself due to their actions.  My construction company dealt with its reparations, but a lack of respect on their part brought about its destruction.'  Creed mused over the prospect, unaware that his eyes looked past the man sitting idly in front.  'Perhaps you are not the man for the job Ketteridge – I must admit I had my doubts.  Are you as in tune as I am with the mutant threat to our nation's well-being?'_

Rice Ketteridge nodded solemnly.  

'Well good.  Here are the appropriate instructions for you to carry out.  I had my secretary type them up.'

'Oh… I didn't know you had one… ah, yes – this must be her signature.'  

The head of the organisation closed his eyes and silently finished his brandy with one ice cube half melting in the deep end.  Adjusting his tie, he waited for the officer to leave with the file.  

It was no great thing, having a colony – a nest – of mutants present in a town where residents were expected to bring children into the world.  Maybe it was considered politically correct to stage these small gatherings in a third world country – maybe, if they were wounded or terminally ill, or something along those lines – but near New York it was just inappropriate.  If the whole concept of mutant containment was left up to him, Creed would have had each one executed.  No doubt he reflected with exalted wisdom.

                                                *        *        *

Across the length of the East Coast of America sat another highly regarded official, dwelling on mutants and their particular corollaries with all the interest of a good Doctor on a sick patient.  His one good eye passed over the details laid out before him on many a small computer screen while the main monitor, the size of a fairly roomy high-priced Manhattan  apartment, sent out reams of relevant data with all the necessary beeping noises issuing out of speakers beside it.  A horde of animated officials, psychologists, assistants and military officers gathered in the SHIELD ground headquarters control room while they individually scrutinized the blaring information on Sabretooth, Dr. Nathaniel Essex and Hawk Spaskyich.  

Nick Fury regarded the labelling on screen that protruded from awkward areas on the diagram of each subject.  In between clicks of a button as he scanned more data pertaining to the remaining X-Men and their mentor, Charles Xavier, Dr. Valerie Cooper approached him with a leaflet in hand.  Her body was bathed in shadow as the light from the screens filled most of the huge room.  'Here's something to take note of, Captain Fury.'  She said, adjusting her glasses in the low-end glow from the screens.  

He accepted the token and looked at it expecting another pointless message from government officials, only to find it was of rather unexpected meaning.  Getting up quickly, he nodded for his advisor in the stead of Val, his missing secretary, and grabbed the telephone which he was carrying.  

Looking around the room while the clamour of voices straining to be heard talked louder and louder amid the gigantic hum of the computer systems, Dr. Cooper settled on a larger screen with its cpu just below.  A click of the mouse brought a closely-observed recording from a helicopter on-scene during two mutants escape from Sabretooth's violent clutches.  From her slightly limited government agency knowledge, Valerie was still able to recognise the two escapees as Rogue and Remy LeBeau in the car.  Somehow an orbiting observation unit had captured these images that other airborne reporting crews would not have been able to.  Toward the end of the recording, the camera was able to focus on Spaskyich's body as he waded through the crowds with the two in tow.  

She presumed after a moment that this was how Captain Fury and SHIELD knew of Sabretooth's close involvement with Spaskyich.  Already having seen the old recordings of the breakout, in which a character previously unseen was posing as Fury's assistant Val, Dr. Cooper surmised that this trio was still in connection, and not just mutually acting in accordance to break a known malevolent felon out of his confines, which _had been encountered many times before in her line of work.  She turned back to Fury as he finished his call._

'Interesting isn't it.'  She stated, watching for his reaction.

'Yes it is.  I'm not quite sure we can't grant this request though, because after all, they did run from the police – and SHIELD for that matter.  I don't know whether my officials and pals in Government are going to like this if they find out I aided two fugitives in jumping our borders.'  He said.

'Well it's not right to just keep them in custody for the NYPD to pick up at a later date.  We know they're not terrorists, Nick, and this gesture of good faith – even if it is asking for a favour – does emancipate them.  It might not appear to be top-notch regard for the PD in that city, but at least we're giving them some good treatment.'

'What if we let them go, Valerie, and they get gunned down by the police for running?  What then?  We look like idiots, and then two dead, supposed terrorist, mutants, let out from SHIELD custody, are put in every paper the next morning.  No, I can't let that happen.  I don't give a damn how bad it makes me feel, because for the good of the organisation and the integrity of both mutantkind and enforcement in this country, we have to keep them locked up until pick-up time.  The only way they could possibly be liberated from this terrible situation would be if they somehow aided us in any number of our investigations.  We have quite a lot, you know.'

'Don't patronise me, Nick, of course I know that, but they're here to help in an investigation.  They claim Magneto's been reborn, and taken Xavier back to the Savage land.'

'Well until we can corroborate that accusation, Piotr Rasputin and Katherine Pryde stay here.'  He replied adamantly.

'God; the most powerful law agency in the world, and we don't even know if the most threatening and influential tyrant history has ever seen is back in business!'  She exclaimed, partly annoyed with his refusal to identify with their condition.  Her own slant on the state of affairs was perhaps clouding her judgment, but right now, an offensive stance would be their only hope in investigating the declaration.  If left unchecked, then there was no telling how far-reaching Magneto could become.

So far SHIELD investigators had determined Sabretooth's involvement with the third party candidate, Nathaniel Essex, but his whereabouts were less established.

                                                *        *        *

His team of fanatical scientists and technicians were currently escorting the young woman from her darkened cell in the underground passages of this discovered warehouse.  They had been freed from captivity in different safe houses dotted around the country by Mystique's daring exploits.  Her knack of employing stealth and disguise to infiltrate all these varying organisations truly astonished Essex when he dwelt on her.  It was shame that Sabretooth, his burly lackey picked up from the remnants of Weapon X, did not share that same approach to covert operations.  It was because of this obsessive need for sharing violence and the pathetic vendettas he held that his presence was currently under SHIELD's thumb.  Essex might hope to free him at a later date, but for now he presented no big threat to the Marauder stability.  

The Marauders were the team of mercenaries employed by Essex in the hopes of maintaining tight security amongst his secluded organisation.  Mystique and Sabretooth were the mutant mainstays of these elite, but Gambit was soon to be drafted in, along with the unwilling addition of an altered Ms. Jean Grey.  The rest of the group consisted of armed and hired warriors.  

At that moment in time, Dr. Nathaniel Essex was watching from his position above all his laboratory equipment while the guards on duty helped bring Jean through the mire of the underground tunnels.  Forced at gunpoint, much like the maniacal Doctor had been many weeks ago, Jean was quieted and left to stand still.  'Isn't this a cosy scene?  Don't I feel just like I've been in this situation before… except… this time, it will be you begging for you life at the end of a thick, black gun barrel.'  Approaching from the back of the crowded room, Remy stepped out, and his new master surveyed him like a piece of meat.  'Déjà vu, n'est-ce pas?'  Essex asked of his recently acquired ward.  He chuckled a little at his own comment, then whirled around and descended a small flight of steps leading up the elevated walkway.  

In front of the crowd of mutants and humans were banks of stolen and retrieved computers, many types of science equipment, and all manner of genetic contraption employed due to the Doctor's obsession with his field of research.  Damp yellow lights illuminated the scene gently, waving at each heavy footfall in the decrepit infrastructure.  Essex patted his equipment lovingly, and stared out at the crowd with his dead black eyes.  'Like what you see here?'  He questioned, walking out to his audience.  The scientists huddled together and went off to the computer equipment.  Whispers of passing queries echoed in the background like a ghost as Essex pulled Jean from the grasps of his armed men.  As she struggled lamely against his huge grip, Mystique stepped forward holding a small pistol in her fist.  Essex carried the young woman over to the bank of machinery while his commanding Marauder trailed after them.

                                                *        *        *

From behind the grouped people, Remy inched closer to his object of desire.  He slithered in between them and managed to step halfway around the room before getting close to Rogue.  She caught sight of him suddenly and tried to stifle a howl behind closed lips.  Her eyes flared in anger as he grinned at her, and she moved backwards before hitting the far wall.  His brow furrowed in confusion, and he stopped, attempting to plead innocence for an unrealised act.  Bumping into another two armed guards, Rogue tried to step between them, but Remy's fingers snaked around her escaping arm.  'Chere!'  He called desperately as the guards seized Rogue in their clutches.  

                                                *        *        *

Essex placed Jean on a thinly-structured operating table and forced a glaring yellow procedure light upon her face.  'Hold still you foolish wench, or your actions can only catalyse my peaking anger.'  He grappled with her weakly, and clamped her two arms under thick leather restraints.  'What are you doing?'  She shouted exasperation and exhaustion claiming her fear at this incredulous and deadly situation.  'Jesus Christ, Essex, let me go!'  

The team of scientists at the computers helped to secure her down to the table, placing a neck brace behind her fragile neck.  'Don't struggle, girl, this will all be over soon.'  One said, positioning the light further inwards, nearly blinding her with white heat.  

Essex stood back and marvelled at his strength to secure his killer successfully.  Mystique stepped next to him, holstering the pistol quickly.  'It's excellent work.'  She commented.  'Too bad Vic isn't here to see this.'

A disturbance from beyond his concentration pulled Essex away from Jean.  His great body swivelled at the noise and he strode back into the feeble glow from the overhead lights.  Looking to a struggling Rogue, he tugged on her shoulder violently, sending her to the floor.  Remy lurched forward to help her, but she scampered backwards.  'Get away from me, you rat!' 

Remy moved to pick her up once more, but Essex's great palm separated them.  'Why?'  The Cajun asked anxiously.

'I cannot believe you actually did his bidding!  What are you?  A slave to the Thieves Guild, a slave to Magneto, a slave to Spaskyich and now to Sinister, here!  I thought I knew who you were, LeBeau, but you're nothing but a goddamn doormat – a devious bastard – can't you see this freak is going to kill Jean, just like he did to Spaskyich!'  She yelled, standing away from them all.

'My dear,' Essex calmed 'I did not kill Spaskyich, I merely set him free – turned him into the being of which he most detested.  I made him into what he made of me.'

'And what's that?'  Jean screamed panic-stricken.

'I am a being of perfection – a man with all the power of a mutant, but without the genes to distinguish so.  I'm what you might call a hybrid…'  His hand gripped Rogue roughly around her neck, but in between struggling, the skin began to part down the centre.  It flowed into two distinct strings of flesh, and warped until melding into a collar for the girl.  She hollered, but Essex's mutated grip remained, until he tossed her to the floor.  Rogue's body simply whisked through the warped flesh, and Essex was able to morph it back into a hand-like limb.  'Marvellous.'  He said.

'Let's see how fluent you can get once I disrupt your mind Nathaniel!  I'll render you so insensible you won't be able to crawl off the floor!'  Jean shouted, making good on her threats.  Concentrating intensely, despite the lack of physical projection used when her arms were raised, she assaulted his unguarded mind while still in place on the table.  

As soon as the wave hit his brain, Essex stumbled but managed to scream out a command to his team at the computers.  'Disable her powers!'

Jean cried out for help as a needle was quickly thrust into her neck.  The distraction was enough to throw her hold on Essex away, and she felt an excruciating pain perforate her senses.  'No!  Not now!'  Rogue shouted, reaching for the redhead's pinned form.  

'That agony you're reeling from at this moment, Jean, is a serum I've spent many weeks developing since your liberating bullet to my head.  Whatever thoughts I once possessed of understanding the mutant species and its tendency of unpredictability are now gone, like dust in the wind.  My new agenda is to give everyone the chance to undergo this invigorating beauty treatment… the same used on my body after I _died_.'

Jean called out for aid, even as the splitting agony seared her nerve endings and burnt a hole through her frying brain.  'Somebody help me!'

Remy lunged for Rogue, who was attempting to grapple with Essex, but he threw her off swiftly, and she impacted on the Cajun's body.  'I don' want t'hurt you anymore, chere!'  He grabbed for her covered shoulder, but missed, and landed an outstretched palm along her neck.  Unlike the Doctor, Remy's skin was unshielded from Rogue's inexorable abilities, and after a second or two, he began to feel his energy slip quickly away.  'Get off me…'  He groaned, almost passing out.  She climbed off, and his limp hand fell away.  

'Nothing can stop this beautiful metamorphosis, Jean Grey – just like I was once a cruel and ineffectual caterpillar, so shall you too feel the glory of rebirth through a short and painful cocoon, and onwards to an even greater liberation as a fantastic butterfly!'  He paraded around her crying form as the machinery buzzed to life, and the scientists approached, encircling her all with various electrodes and flitting devices designed to tweak her senses and push her over the limit of human endurance.

'And now, you feel the touch of eternity grace your simple body!  So shall you who broke my back like Spaskyich, embrace the grandeur of a higher organism, for I have made it that way.'  Essex called out, accepting his moved crowd like they were untiring fans of his relentless rhetoric.  The lights dimmed as the computers and equipment sucked generator power to fuel this demented procedure.  The siren of screaming was unceasing in the large echoing room, and to the surreal Doctor, it seemed like the sweetest symphony of revenge, beauty and cold amiability.  'I give you life!'  He decreed majestically to the subjected student.

'You forget, Sinister,' Rogue chimed, astride a crippled Remy 'that the light that burns twice as bright…'  She raised a bare-skinned hand that held the Cajun's entire deck of cards; it glowed with ethereal intensity.

'… Burns half as long.'  Essex finished, meeting determined black eyes with Rogue's.

In the split second between thought and execution, and explosion burst open the far wall in the large warehouse, sending wood splinters and soaring rubble through the air, and knocking Rogue's concentration off.  The abilities absorbed by a downed Remy allowed for the southern beauty to charge his cards with his borrowed power.  She flung them from her hand even as the smoke resulting from the rocking explosion billowed into the room.  Essex caught several in his lower torso, literally blowing apart as the bursts shattered his moulding body structure.  The other load of cards impacted on the machinery opposite the explosion, and sent metal shards, chips, wires and medical equipment everywhere.  

The scurrying manoeuvre of huddling feet resonated through the silenced warehouse room while an entire detachment of SHIELD troops invaded the premises under the cover of darkness, noise and spectacular light shows.  The first to combat them were the hired mercenaries working for the Marauders, but with less specific training, time and weapons effectiveness, they were cut down where they stood.  Now finding cover amid the prancing panic of scattering scientists, the men dived for wrecked machinery as protection while their comrades were blitzed in two by incoming spit-fire.  

                                                *        *        *

Mystique was the first mutant to react properly; hitting the ground while dust and dirt flew up all around her.  Her eyes caught sight of Nathaniel Essex attempting to reform his shattered body after Rogue's vicious and unprecedented attack.  The shape-shifting mutant clambered to her feet under fire, and altered herself to resemble a tiny black rat.  The miniscule mammal scuttled along the floor, careful to avoid stamping feet amongst the desperate rush to escape.  Spying a gap in the air vents up ahead, Mystique was able to weasel through the gap and out into the free world of New York once again.  She dashed for cover, not to be seen again.

                                                *        *        *

Oblivious to the noise-suppressed carnage occurring just blocks away, Logan was out on his brand-new heavy silver motorcycle, scouring the terrain for signs of the treacherous swamp-rat and his redhead package.  

Seeking Jean out after his run-in with Scott and his useless band of merry men, Logan had spent the last twenty-seven hours looking for her, and a way out of his endless cycle of betrayal, bad company and even worse decisions.  No doubt there was an attraction to Jean which he felt intensely, but the reason for his rather abortive and vain tailing pursuit was to ensure he actually did something with his time, instead of nothing.  He had been through too much in the past few months to just settle back into an unshared mercenary lifestyle where jobs were few and far between.  Having to be active was the only his brain could stay alive.  Already the X-Men had practically dissolved, no thanks to his ministrations, Magneto was back in the Savage land, more powerful and unstoppable than ever, and Sabretooth, however damaged and demented was still alive.  Counting his achievements, Logan considered them rather more failures than anything else.  

He revved his motorcycle at the stopped lights, considering his options after a long and pointless pursuit.  The scent had been familiar and strong at the origin, and living with Remy for a while had enabled him to study his movements, but tracking relied on a predictable pattern of eating, sleeping, working and playing, and since his motives had clearly not been self-providing, it was infinitely harder to locate the swamp rat among a city the size of a small country.  Men and women were out for blood already in New York, especially with the incidents happening in the main highway, but Logan was at least thankful that he had been elsewhere during that encounter; from what he had heard of it, many lives had been lost in the senseless skirmish.  

Speeding away from the stop, Logan peeked at his rear-view mirrors casually, and stirred from his silent reverie to observe a sudden silver blur skid across the reflection.  Chancing a sneaking look over his shoulder at speed, Logan howled as the familiar gaunt face of Pietro Maximoff invaded his view.  He looked down at his speedometer, and then gasped as he felt two hands suddenly thrust him off his perch.  

The bike skittered across the surface of the empty road, crashing finally with a parked car.  Shattered glass flooded into the air, and reflected light at surreal rainbow angles as the streetlamp gave them a warm orange glow to talk under.  Cuts and small scrapes quickly self-repaired on Logan's skin as he leant against the lamppost, breathing heavily.  His rage soared, and he popped all six claws, lunging at the speedy worm before he had a chance to scarper.  Pietro easily outmanoeuvred Logan's angry assault, throwing wildly rude comments at the older mutant in doing so.  'Care to stop now Wolverine?'  He asked, slowing to Logan's still-impressive rate of attack.

The feral mutant growled agitatedly, and swished one single claw down to cleave Pietro's shoulder in two.  He happened to be too slow.

Fabian Cortez picked up the slack, by slamming a thick arm around Logan's neck, pinning him to the length of the lamppost concrete structure.  'Keep it quiet; pal, because we're not best pleased with your performance.  It's all over the nine o'clock news!'

'What're you talkin' about?'  He asked, beginning to rest his temper.

'Your friends at the Xavier Institute – I sent you there to kill them, not chase ghosts around New York City while they get apprehended by the NYPD.'

'I see that you've been makin' new friends, Cortez, why can't I?'  Logan enquired, cockily.

Pietro shuffled uncomfortably, and scolded him with a bad look.

'His father is his master, not I… Magneto explained that I had to retrieve his precious son, or his empire would have not been quite as splendid as it could have been.'

'Am I to understand, then, that you two don't like each other that much?'

'You should have done the job instead of acting the fool in the suburbs and drinking yourself to sleep!  As it happens, we're taking you back for one last chance.'  Cortez replied.

'So I guess you ain't gonna give me my file now.'  Logan said, never really believing that the Acolyte would have.

'Your file – ah, yes… I burnt it.'

Logan kicked against Cortez's power-enforced hold, but Pietro delivered several quick blows to his face, and the feral mutant was powerless to stop him.  Before he could react further, the Acolyte pulled a syringe from his pocket, and inserted the liquid into his bloodstream.  'It's time for him to dwell on his inner-demons.'  Cortez described, placing the empty medical tool back.  'We have to get back to the Savage land.'


	10. miracle mile

Writer: Rowland Wells

_Disclaimer:  I am in no way any part of Marvel Comics or any affiliation of their enterprise.  I do not own the X-Men or any Marvel Characters.  _

Alternate 

X-Men 

#21

"miracle mile"

Interrupted in the middle of a technological assault on Jean Grey's mind and body, Dr. Nathaniel Essex was quick to react through the smoke and fire.  His hidden laboratory in the warehouse district of suburban New York had been targeted by SHIELD agents for a rapid and dynamic attack, justified by the method taken to retrieve Essex's objective, Hawk Spaskyich.  Due to the nature of the original breakout, SHIELD was out in force to reclaim their property, and while Sabretooth, their informant would pay for his crimes elsewhere, the remaining Marauders were swiftly being oppressed with stealthy gunfire.  The lab was quickly put in ruins, Rogue had challenged Essex's domination and won, and Jean had not undergone the intended treatment yet.  Reeling from the initial shock and anxiety of the terrifying procedure, she was half-unconscious, but the Doctor had not succeeded in transforming her.  

Lying among the dashed equipment and broken materials, Essex tried feebly to regain his composure.  Rogue's absorbed abilities from his floored addition to the Marauder's, Gambit, had allowed her to send a volley of charged cards into his large frame, shattering it over snapped wooden boards, and sizzling apparatus.  All around him chaos reigned supreme.  The SHIELD soldiers were steadily advancing through the holes in the wall, and crouching defensively at every turn.  His hired men, as grizzly as they had once appeared were falling swiftly, and only a few remained.  Many of his precious scientists from the Salekhard installation were already dead, and Mystique had vanished from sight.  He might have been giving up hope if not for the unique mutation on his warped body.  

Sensing the loss at nearly every space in his bizarre form, his body quickly reacted and started to replicate the cells positioned at each point along the severed limbs.  Sprouting lengths snaked from the tips of his bloody stumps, and holes gaping through his frame began to seal amazingly fast.  Before long, his entire form was reconstructed in pristine condition, and Essex was able to clamber off the rubble while the soldiers and mercs opposite duelled viciously.  Deciding to avoid further confrontation with the abrupt disturbance of spitting guns and smoky fire, and egress to a safer haven amid the back streets of the gigantic city, Essex took off.  

                                                *        *        *

Stirring from the still embrace of Rogue's coma-inducing paralysis, Remy shook himself off the floor, nearly vomiting all the way.  He jumped at the sudden stop-start spatter of gunfire just in front of him, and gazed at the destructive scene.

Crashing equipment blistered across the length of the room, spurred on by sporadic and thunder-clapping shots.  The SHIELD soldiers had taken up point behind much of the broken wreckage, and continued to pick off the Marauder mercs as they stood like a palisade against the enemy.  The floor was littered with bloody smears, and spurts of crimson liquid spattered over the white lab uniforms of Essex's science team.  Caught in the crossfire, they had no chance to survive.  

Another explosion resonated through the building as a grenade was tossed haphazardly into the fray.  The resulting shockwave blast battered against Remy, and he was thrown back into the shadows.  Desperate to defy the inevitable closing of these American Marine Commando types, Remy shook wildly in mounting apprehension as he threw himself down the steps of the underground warehouse passages.  Whatever had got into Rogue, he would have to find out later, even if she wouldn't want to convey it, but that was if he could catch up with her at all.  As he dashed along the darkened tunnels, the booming thud of gun shots and explosions dying quickly, he reflected on her sudden lunacy.  Whatever it is I can handle it with her, he thought, turning a corner, and then another.  He wasn't that hardhearted after all, and his feelings stretched deeper for Rogue than just companionship.  Right now, he shouldn't be too worried about resolving the issue, for he saw his actions as no big threat to the stability of their already delicate relationship.  Not being able to _touch her_ was as frustrating as it was to become involved with any girl. 

He struck a wall at the end of the tunnel, the miasma in his head still present.  'Merde…  Ouvrir!'  He screamed, slamming a fist into the brick.  The light was much too dim here for his crimson eyes to pick out anything, but he knew from experience that the passage ended here.  Deciding to chance it, Remy placed his palm alongside the masonry, and tapped into the potential kinetic energy stored in the objects.  The blockage began to glow, and he stepped back while it vibrated much too intensely for its molecules to maintain.  The brick burst in an explosion of dust, and crumbled the wall with the produced vibrations.  Light flooded in through the gap, and he cheered successfully while making his swift and daring exit.

                                                *        *        *

Rogue staggered uneasily with a disorientated Jean in her arms.  They had managed to wade through the rubble and debris in the opposite direction from Remy's exit and safely bypassing much of the action, but Jean's condition was weak, and she could barely hold herself up.  

During the start of the operation on her body, Rogue had taken care of Essex, but had been unable to stop the scientists from injecting the X-Man with a developed serum.  Having done so, Rogue was able to just interrupt their movements enough while SHIELD took care of the Marauders and the rest of Essex's maniacal entourage.  She parted the restraints, and fended off the laboratory workers so much so that they fled the equipment and ended up in the crossfire.  Dragging the redhead mutant from her captors, Rogue quickly made an exit for the warehouse halls a flight of steps above the large room they were in.  

'Come on, you useless woman!  Pick up your damn feet before I leave you behind, because I have to save my own skin you know!'  Rogue yelled at Jean who could hardly hear the southerner in her delirium.  A sharp tug brought Jean to her flopping feet, and Rogue hobbled toward the Warehouse main entrance.  Two giant silvery roll-doors met her gaze, and she lay the young woman down in a heap while she attempted to free them from this nightmare cage.  The thud of many approaching footsteps and explosions echoed throughout the giant space in the warehouse while Rogue took a timeout from her method of escape to dwell on the anxiety building within her.  Her eyes could only pierce so far into the darkness, but she attempted to scrutinize an image of the gaining ruckus.  'I can't believe a girl like me ever got wrapt up in this kind of crap at such a young age…'  She murmured uneasily.  

'Starting to wish you had never met me?'  Dr. Nathaniel Essex announced from the depths of the darkness that outside streetlamp light could hardly penetrate.  He was beyond her sight in the gloom, but the tone creeping around his regal, yet gravelled voice suggested a newborn strength to his body that she previously thought she had dispatched of.  He groaned precariously, and Rogue felt the shudder vibrate down her spine and roll out of her feet.  'Jesus, why don't you just leave me alone?'  

'Because then my dear, you would never know of my influence on you.  How do you think anyone I've ever met could then live without ever have encountering me?  I am more than an impact on their miserable lives, I shall be the saviour that people turn to in the future, and I owe it all to an operation that you were a part of.'

'Not by choice, you fool!'  She called, kneeling to Jean who lay half-awake, sweating through her clothes.  'Christ, what have your twisted scientists done to her?  She looks like a distanced zombie!'

Essex approached the two of them and the light shed new horror upon his already feared form.  The red mark on his forehead was more prominent than ever, and he forced open the huge silver doors for them.  'This is your way out.  I suggest you take it for your own sake.  I'm not likely to do you any more sportsmanlike favours in the future.'

'Then why do one at all?  Just tell me what you've done to her?'  Rogue asked, staring into his dead face.

'Perhaps I am not the villain you first took me for… Ha!  I shall remain an enigma for you, the world and Xavier's students to unravel in time.  As for the insensible Ms. Grey – I used a potent inhibitor serum specially created for mutantkind – it's still in development, but she should find it keeps her special brand of power at bay until a cure can be found.  Not only is the pain and disorientation she is experiencing from the fruitless attempts to access that inbuilt capability, but the serum is slowly blocking the paths to the reservoir of energy that allows the supremacy to bloom upon sheer acts of willpower alone.'

'Why?  Why did you do these things to us?  Why did you warp Remy, of _all people_?  He was the one sure rock on which I leant!'  She called out, needing justification and closure from this dabbling evil.

'To the victor go the spoils, Rogue.'  He replied simply.  'I won the battle of wills once Jean shot me.  I got my revenge against Spaskyich, and I'll have had my revenge against her.  My spoils were the liberation of my inhibitions in Genetic Research for Homo Sapiens Superior.  I am now master of the human cell, the very existence of man, an axiom that no other being alive can lay claim too.  My success and vigour is thanks to my freedom from the shackles of simple-mindedness and sustained pursuit of the perfect human specimen.  Nothing can stop me now, young Rogue, not even you; nothing.' 

'Essex!  Stop where you are, or we'll shoot!'  Val screeched, finally heading a ragged team of SHIELD soldiers once they freed her from the confines of the warehouse dungeons.  She ran with a gun, the fury and anger welling so deeply inside that it fuelled her aggression.  'I mean it!'

Essex stared at the rushing band of opponents objectionably, and turned tail.  He let them see his grand exit before disappearing into thin air.  By the time Val and the soldiers stopped at the entrance, Rogue had taken Jean beyond the perimeter of the desolate district.

                                                *        *        *

'In another historic nation-wide address earlier today from the Whitehouse, President McCormick Johnston issued an alert to the mutant and human terrorists that run rampant in great cities such as New York, Washington and Boston, explaining how their actions have brought about this engaging and frankly abruptly dangerous decree soon to be implemented, on the streets of many major cities in North America.  Although having no full jurisdiction over many other countries in this continent and the one below, the President was quick to justify his actions and urged the other nation's leaders to follow his example and institute martial law while the mutant/human terrorism still occurs on streets our children used to play on.  We have some footage from his speech earlier if you didn't happen to catch it.'

'… And I say to those men and women who would challenge the very stability and integrity of our great nation: we will not tolerate such insubordinate and reckless dispute on the very streets and in the buildings of our most prominent and magnificent cities.  Such acts of violence and spiralling hatred for one another must at least be contained and put down, not allowed to run riot while the law enforcement agencies step around trying to determine the best way to combat such situations.  To that end, I have no other choice but to impose martial law upon New York, Washington, Los Angeles, Boston and several other key locations along each coast of the United States…'

'Such revelations over the international Sapiens/Superior dispute have immediately thrown the entire country into escalating chaos.  Not even the President himself or any of his advisors were quite prepared for the explosive outcome that carried with it a wave of rebellious defiance on the side of mutant terrorists and human protesting activists.  It seems that each division from the whole in the U.S.A has a slant on in that shows it cannot be contained by simple democratic announcements.  Much of the cities placed under martial law have already encountered huge rebellion, backed with demonstrations of violence, outbursts of broadcasted political unfairness and even such sights as flag burning and the macabre displays of brutal, bloody force within the back streets of once proud metropolises.  Perhaps the decreed safeguards were not meant to follow through like this in any of the politician's minds, but one can't help thinking mutinously as everybody around here for miles stares on in disbelief while more sparks of close-quarter hatred ignite, and the flame of passionate fear burns into the night.  Reporting for CNN, this is Trish Trilby, Madison Square Gardens.'

The television set in Exam Room 3 flickered suddenly, and then the picture reduced to a miniscule dot, before disappearing completely.  Trilby's last words echoed in the minds of the two people watching her broadcast, as the sound cut out at the tv switched off.  Standing in the open door, holding two charts in her hand and wearing a distinctly non-professional long purple coat for a uniform was Wanda Maximoff.  Her hair seemed as familiar as ever, only shorter than in previous experiences, but it still retained the purple splash of dye colouring much of the top half, and leaving the rest that splayed out around her neck black.  It was the first thing Betsy noticed of the woman when she strolled in casually.  Her earrings were rather large metal rings threaded through the gap, and she wore high length black leather boots.  She looked as if she was attending a heavy-metal concert.

Betsy leaned over from her bed positioned, the numb ache still obviously apparent in her two shoulders.  She tuned Scott in to the silent intrusion with a signal from her mind, and swung both legs over the side to sit.  Scott rose from his sleep, and clutched immediately at his left arm, the bandaging squeezing the blood supply in a life-preserving tourniquet.  'It's the Scarlet Witch.'  He announced jadedly.

The X-Man in the bed next to him had never met Wanda before, but an aura encircling the woman gave the impression of calmness and trust ahead of unfounded revulsion.  'Nobody calls me that, Scotty; it's just Wanda.'  She peered at the charts again in her hand, and tossed them to a chair just next to the beds.  Her mission here was one of mercy, not arrogance and happiness at the prospect of two of Xavier's finest locked in hospital.  

'What do you want then?  Come to gloat?'  He asked, adjusting his ruby quartz glasses for any sign of offensiveness.

'Scott let her talk.'  Betsy said, calming her partner in their crisis.

Wanda brushed off his comments with a wave of her hand, and pointed up to the deactivated television set.  'You've heard the news then, I see.  Come to any conclusion about it yet?'

'Like what?'  Betsy asked, running a hand through her own long purple-dyed hair.  'Are we supposed to make it all go away?'

'No, not at all.'  Replied Wanda dismissively.  'What you can to do though, is not get yourselves killed in walking out of here once those injuries have healed.  The public is out for mutant blood nowadays, and they can spot us a mile off.  It's not safe on the streets for _anyone.'_

'If you're a mutant, how did you get here without being seen then?'  Betsy asked.

''I've got my means – I've got some experience with humans and their hatred under my belt, as you no doubt have been told.  Plus… a little bad luck here and there usually puts off any lager-swilling human tree trunk for a while.  You know how my powers tend to work on the environment.'  Wanda responded, sitting at the end of Scott's bed.  She let a hand creep along the exposed bed sheets before he knocked it away.  

'I'm not drugged up that much.'

'Ha!  Don't flatter yourself too heavily.'  She shouted, offended.

'Stop it, both of you!'  Betsy interjected, annoyed at their bickering.  'Scott – I can feel that she's got good intentions on the surface –'

'Didn't anyone ever tell you not to read people's minds without their permission?'  Wanda asked.

'Well spit it out then, you stupid girl.'  Scott stated.  

Absorbing the comment this time, Wanda stood and walked to the door.  She was almost out before turning around.  'You listen smart-ass – these people outside don't screw around when it comes to nationwide political loathing!  I don't care of you're under lockdown, you two cannot get arrested and kept in jail while my father plays god with the powers of the world down south.'

'Don't leave yet – look, we're sorry for not trusting you… past experiences is all.'  Scott explained, rising from the bed and placing his jacket around his wounded arm carefully.  'Betsy's told me of Magneto's intrusion in the Mansion and consequent kidnapping of the Professor, but what do you expect us to do about it?  The X-Men are smashed!  Logan's ruined us, Xavier's gone, Jean was taken by that damn French fool, and Piotr's probably already serving time for being a cop-killer!  Plus Spaskyich is on the loose again with Sabretooth – it's a wonder we're still even alive.'

'Well you won't be for much longer unless we egress this instant.'  Wanda replied.

'What do you suggest?  We just go ahead and waltz right out the front door?  There are policemen stationed here, you know.'

'Aren't you a telepath?'  Wanda asked staring at the Briton assiduously.  'Use your abilities to cloud the thoughts of every official you walk past until the doors are reached.  It's that simple.'

'Yes, but that's a tremendous strain on me, plus once we're out of the building, what about all the cops on the streets and the mobs quickly forming in ever back alley in the damn city?' 

'You just leave them all to my skills.  Trust me; with our combined effort, we can make it back to your mansion in time, and contact a certain somebody.  Make him see that Magneto is alive and well, and as angry as ever.  I don't want him dead, you understand, but his play for power went askew last time… It's not going to go right at all this time.  I can feel it.  There's too much of a political undertow that threatens to overwhelm him and his damn Acolytes.  I know it's a horrendous thing to do to my own father, but the man I once knew is just a shadow.  Something has gone terribly wrong with him.'

                                                *        *        *

A stench of anxiety hung heavy in the throne room of Avalon where Magneto resided.  It was a potent mixture of cautious concern mixed with unwavering determination that emanated from him while he sat atop his pedestal.  It culminated in an enforced perception to defeat the commanding masters of human arrogance-led nuclear power, and by sheer will alone would one man supplant that current and fickle dominance.  

His thoughts, opinions and personality had been altered by Cortez's underhanded ministrations, but the yearning for absolute control over a civilisation which Magneto deemed incapable of handling their own weapons still lingered in the old lord's core.  Threatening to wash away its superior children in a wave of unadulterated hatred and misunderstanding, humanity was on the verge of an apocalyptic finale to its ignorant reign over the Earth.  And although Cortez had somehow ensured that he would be at the forefront of this new age of mutant pre-eminence, Magneto's innermost personality, unmoved by the Acolyte's lust for power yearned to reach out from the mire of fogged memories and declare that his motives were different.  Magneto wanted an end to the butterfingered destruction that humanity continually poured upon itself, and made for mutants to succeed their oppressive masters to become the dominant species on Earth.  Cortez, unfortunately the commanding drive behind Magneto's current resolve, preferred for the useless species to wither away and die while mutantkind could crush the remainders with all the desire of racial wrath, not dissimilar to what he believed might and could happen to his kind after his master confirmed himself to the world at large again.

So it had become a battle of wills, and unbeknownst to Magneto, he was swiftly losing, for Cortez impaired the true, reaching memories more and more every day.  While Erik lay wounded from excursions into battle unprepared, Fabian was able to dull the powers that lay in a huge reservoir below the skin of his master.  Somehow, he was able to slowly and surely cripple Magneto until when it finally came time for the climaxing succession of humankind and Cortez could supplant the very commander who led them.  

Believing that the mutant was truly incapable of ending humanity with a swift blow, Cortez ensured this way that he would be the one to deliver it, and the man who had failed so easily in his first attempt would die at his very hands.  

                                                *        *        * 

* Don't make any sudden moves – we don't want anyone attracted to your appearance, however dashing it might be. *  Tessa announced within Kurt's consciousness.  He stood in the corner of the massive waiting area among many holiday-goers ready to depart via aircraft flights from F Wing in the NYC Airport.  Trying to appear nonchalant while dressed in a thick long beige leather coat, Kurt turned to face the wall behind him, afraid that his startling demonic features might spark off a nearby child's imagination to clearly, and then their cover would be blown.  His disguise was pretty flimsy when he thought about it.  The coat's collar managed to cover the lower part of his face enough, but still his yellow eyes and dark blue skin peeked out from the above the material's border.  For it to work, he had stolen a large detective hat in which the rest of his surreal features could hide.  Other clothes were no problem, as he fit perfectly well into them, he just couldn't maintain the straightened stance for such a long period of time.  His tail had to curl up behind his back as the coat draped over it.  'I look like a fool.'  He said to his companion.

'I know, but there's nothing we can do about it now.  Are your eyes as good as mine?  What does that writing say on the multitude of screens up above?'

'Bitte?'  He asked, not quite understanding.  Kurt's grasp of English was still slightly tenuous, but he was developing it constantly.

'Never mind, I picked it up from the people in front of us.  They were thinking along the same wavelength.'  Tessa laughed.

She moved the two of them closer to the monitors, hoping to find the appropriate flight which could send them out of America's borders and somewhere slightly near to the Savage land.  From what she knew, Magneto's domain lay off a huge outcrop from the landmass of Antarctica, but the nearest point to such a location was in the southern-most point of Chile, or somewhere around the Falklands.  With her best efforts, the two of them had only come so far, and still it would take time to reach their required destination.  Tessa didn't even know whether the two of them would be able to make a difference when and if they got there.  But it was worth the effort in her mind.  'I'm confident about this.'  She said, affirming their circumstances for as much her benefit as Kurt's.  'Even though all these terrible things have happened to us, I can still see Xavier and ourselves coming out on top.'

'Keep the faith, then, fräuline.'

A family shuffled past the two mutants as everybody prepared to accept the announced flights on the monitor screens.  Tessa held Kurt back in the weak shadows of the morning light that filtered through the clouds and building windows.  It was preparing to be another heated late summer day, and although the students might have appreciated it earlier in the year, the consistency was becoming tiresome and objectionable.  'I cannot stand this hotness.'  Kurt whispered, pulling at the tight hold of his coat.  

'You keep it buttoned, Wagner, you hear me?  No antics until I say so.'  She responded unkindly.

The beeping declaration of flight times and numbers intoned over the wired siren megaphones hung in each corner of the waiting room.  Eventually, the announcer's pleasant voice drifted throughout the entire airport.  It was a garbled mess for them to pick up on, but Tessa received the instructions via everyone's movement to the monitors.  Her eyes flicked over the details hurriedly, and she selected the perfect craft for their expedition.  'Cape Horn in Chile – it's ready to leave in thirty minutes!  Do you think you can get us on board in time?'

'You understand I cannot teleport always safe to places I have never seen.'  Kurt replied hesitantly, not wishing to break her excited mood.

'We've already taken enough chances so far on our leg of the journey, German; I'm ready to go in for another.  Just take us out onto the runway, and then we'll get to the centre of the plane in one flash.  Make it First Class if you can.  Nice seats in there, you know.'

Kurt nodded, and took her by the hand.  He led them over to the same corner they had previously been stuck in for a good forty-five minutes.  Adjusting the long coat once more to conceal his face, Kurt stared outside at the concrete runway, lit up with morning iridescence of fresh yellow sunshine.  He grasped her shoulder closely, and she watched at the rest of the crowd, hoping not to arouse too much suspicion in their spectacular vanishing act.

'Hold on.  You might feel a little strange afterwards.'  He said.

She was about to acknowledge his pleasantry, but paused as her mouth, tongue and lips went numb from heart-stopping shock.  Out of the corner of her eye, she observed as one final vacation flyer stepped into the overcrowded, screaming waiting room.  To her, the figure seemed familiar, an ethereal presence that pushed her panic buttons in a similar way to her visual encounter with the amnesiac Erik Lehnsherr.  The figure was a vision from her past, recently met with once again.  She couldn't be sure of the exactness, but Tessa thought the man appeared a lot like an older, more drawn Hawk Spaskyich.  His features seemed haggard and hung, like they were dropping ever so slightly of his bones.  He looked gaunt and bent with exertion and stress.  It was only a flicker of recognition before Kurt teleported the both of them to the runway on the other side of the windows.

Staring in disbelief back at the crowd behind electronically activated double doors, Tessa tried to search out the figure.  He had seemed so much like their adversary, only half-dead with residual, lasting agony that had perforated his soul and skin.  He had moved his head disjointedly toward her at the last moment just as Kurt flashed away, and left an eternal gaze imprinted on her memory pushing her to discover whether or not the face matched the individual.  A thin, blistered red scar was dashed down the side of his forehead, just beside the temple, and it was this that Tessa could see in her mind.  Hawk Spaskyich was a ghost, she thought anxiously, he had to be dead.  The truth was that she didn't know; and trying to look back in, he had gone into mystery, becoming a wraith, a spirit of the former tormenter that existed solely in legend.

                                                *        *        *

Fended off from the desolate streets of New York by the incoming loudspeaker whine of high-pitched police car sirens, Rogue dragged Jean to the curb of the opposite pavement, and headed for the long dark alley straight ahead.  It took no time at all for the lawmen to drive past, ensuring the sanctity of their city's blocks with gun-enforced tenacity.  The red-on-blue roof lights shimmered by the alley entrance, illuminating the dark, dank and cramped conditions like a poorly funded disco.  A dance floor would be a place of happiness and immediate joy to the two young women, yet the feelings they were experiencing were far from jovial as Rogue hauled her newfound companion tiredly through the suburbs of one of the largest cities in the world.  The southerner was past perspiring in the summer night heat haze, and the continual warm glow of the buildings and locations all around didn't help to combat the humid atmosphere created all along the low-lying dirty streets.  Rogue was running on pure reserves of adrenalin, stored up from many months of angered servitude and slavery to her many masters.  Now the energy was finally filtering out, and her muscles ached, and her eyes were tired from blind squinting, and she longed to fall asleep in the arms of exhaustion.  All this and more heaped itself upon her young body, but still she was able to escape the sweeping scout for mutant presence by many of the caffeine-assisted night watchmen.  Burning had long since vanished in her arms, legs and strained neck while she hugged a delirious Jean close, and it was currently being replaced by the feeling of dead weight just hanging off her very torso.  Her hair was in a tangled mess, her clothes had been torn, and cuts, scrapes and jabs had become indented as she tried to run off everything pursuing them.  

Her strength was coming to a final burst, and Rogue had to stop lest she die where she stood.  'I can't run anymore!'  She shouted climatically.  Her legs stumbled on the damp earthen ground and she keeled over.  Jean slumped by her side still heavily feeling the effects of Essex's half-finished operation.  Before long, the lack of unpredictable movement allowed for her to end this session of waking agony, and she too accepted the warm embrace of sleep.

                                                *        *        *

A clammy dripping noise of water awoke Rogue later on, but its annoying constancy did nothing to alleviate the straining ache still felt in her muscles and head.  'Where am I?'  She asked, not quite realising her question in such a state of exhaustion.  She rolled her head to the side, suddenly noticing the abrupt sharpness of the surface upon which she lay.  Her eyes were still misted over from disorientation, and Rogue couldn't make out the shapes swirling and moulding just metres away.  There was a low-end murmur of intermittent chatter echoing from small nooks that she couldn't see lying down.  It surprised her, and she felt a need to catch sight.

Her body couldn't quite comply with the mental request, and she lay still on the stony surface.  'Who…?'  She said, trying to make out a timeline of events from her collapse in the alley to the arrival here.  'I'm not a mutant.'  Another sentence rang out from her disengaged vocal chords, and Rogue wondered if she had ever really run from the police for all that time.  Maybe I was hallucinating all that time, she thought.

The drip-drip-drip of water aroused her thirst.

'I need water…'  She mumbled incoherently to no-one.

After what seemed like an eternity, nobody came to her aid, so she gave up and decided to try and die on the stone.  It was better than this surreal illusion.

A hand rested itself on her forehead unexpectedly, and Rogue woke right up.  She called out, but the reply was quick to quell her fears.  The tone was strangely calming, but had the appropriate rough edge to the feminine voice to indicate experience.  Rogue was impressed she could identify all that in her state.

'My throat… it's so dry.'

'Here, here – swallow slowly, you haven't had any for some time.  Too much might hurt you.'

The liquid managed to wash away the ether clouding her brain.  It took time though.  'Where am I?'  

'You're in the Alley.'  The voice replied.

'I can feel it… the ground is not the same… where are the sirens of the city?'

'Calm yourself, child, for you've had a busy day; you're answers will be coming.  Rest now, for you both are in safer hands.'

'There isn't much time left for us all in this world… please…'  Rogue asked suddenly, requiring the trust of a stranger's name.  'Who are you?'  

'My name is Callisto.'

                                                *        *        *

It was already midday by the time Wanda managed to get Scott and Betsy back to the abandoned Mansion on Graymalkin Lane.  The afternoon had darkened overcast skies; the threat of downpour loomed above the vast white vapours like a bird of prey, and for once in the long summer, everyone observing such weather on the ground called down the thunder.  Intense heat, magnified by the water collecting in the pockets miles above the Mansion grounds, radiated throughout Salem Center and the rest of Maine.  The day was to be another stuffy era much like the previous twenty-four hour inescapable sauna sessions before it.  

Taking in the eloquent image of the dishevelled estate mid-stride, Wanda paused to gaze up at the newly made impressions and damage staining the arcane face of the brick walls.  It had seen too much trouble in too shorter time; the black agents of Weapon X, the rioting masses of the Friends of Humanity and lastly the policemen and women of New York had all imparted upon the grounds their lasting physical messages.  Walking the hallways, the three young mutants from different sides come together observed the tags put there by each sect.  Bullet holes, some freshly made and others old and born into the wood were always prominent, but the displays of power that left rubble lying dashed across their paths and walls crumpled to dust were the sights that struck the real fear into their minds.  It wasn't so much their nakedness that created stress, but the fact that all three sides of the law and more had come to wreak havoc exclusively on this one haven for mutantkind.

'We haven't much time to dwell on pleasant memories past and lost, you two.  Might I remind you that my father is containing his aggression only so long, and the more time we take in alerting the authorities of it, the more likely it is that he'll let loose and we'll be too late?'  Wanda chimed compulsively.  She dragged Betsy and Scott, who were both thankful for their escape from captivity and human mob scrutiny, yet wishing to recover fully before having Wanda throw them into the fray.  Much effort had been taken to ensure their departure from New York and the martial law in place there, but only at the expense of Wanda's violent defensive nature and Betsy's flowering capabilities.

Making it past the scattered debris of the ground floor and the narrow corridors made tighter by wreckage, the three entered the conservatory and then went to the small com station hidden just behind several burgundy wood wall panels.  With his good arm Scott tapped at the concealed entrance, and the wood slid out of place.  He then sat at the swivel chair placed in front of a bank of monitor screens.

'You sure you know how to operate all this?  I'm not sure I was ever paying attention in classes when Xavier went over it all.'  Betsy explained, becoming slightly daunted by the tumult of silvery flashing monitors.  'Too busy concentrating on the use of powers and physical dogfight techniques.'  She said to Wanda by way of reason.

The former Acolyte brushed her off noncommittally, and rested her hands around Scott's shoulders cordially.  'Alright… everybody on-line – looking good.'  She pointed to a bank of buttons which his hands quickly glazed over.  'Let's see what we can see.'

                                                *        *        *

A beeping to the right of her arm began to distract Dr. Valerie Cooper and after a moment or two, she clicked the switch just above the small red light.  Little did she realise that the action would result in the colossal collection of monitors turning on, staring every operative within the ground headquarters in the face.  An abrupt shock flowed through everybody down on the control room floor as the face of a weary Scott Summers came to life animatedly.  Cooper gasped at her mistake, and went to flick the image to her screen only.  'Don't switch me off!'  Scott shouted, hoping to catch their attention.

The fantastic speakers positioned beside the huge screen issued a shockwave of sound that hit everyone's ears abruptly.  The feedback whine aftershock that came after silenced the room suddenly, and the young mutant continued.  'I've got to speak to Captain Fury – tell him it's Summers from the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters, regarding Magneto.'

The Doctor stared down at the small laptop sized monitor in front of her and shook her head amazed.  'Aren't you a little late?  I think the moves have been set in motion.  Nick's taken a huge squad with him – they're off to the Savage land in search of the one and only.'

'Then we have something to add to that –'

Scott was pushed out of the chair by Wanda who displaced him.  'There's one aspect of the assault, as I presume it's going to be, that the venerable Captain Fury might have overlooked and which I would like to shine light on.  How about you patch us through to him?  It's in respect to Magneto's power: he's surrounded the Savage land with nuclear missiles.'

                                                *        *        *

The chainsaw whir of grinding helicopter blades even on the most technologically advanced aircraft the divisions of the American Government had to offer still grated in Fury's sensitive ears when he flew with the agency.  He was beginning to wish he had brought some ear protection with him.

Currently, the convoy of twenty SI-03mk2 SHIELD helicopters was making great coverage over the distanced waters between the tip of Antarctica and the southern-most outcrop of South America.  Under the cover of radar-disturbance, the small army Fury had organised against Magneto's great Fortress caressed the water's edge as it hovered at speed just above the thrashing waves and white-cold icebergs.  It was to make the distance in time, and let out all the troops due to be used in overpowering Avalon's defensive forces.  Utilising sturdy faith, SHIELD was confident in waylaying the rising despot's fanatical desire for world dominance.  The troops were frosty and prepared, weapons had been checked, loaded and rechecked, and their determination was relentless.

Val was with him on this trip, put there on a whim to see more action instead of deskwork in the leader's absence.  She listened to her headphones, and signalled across to Fury.  Receiving the set, he acknowledged the message with a nod.  Talk above the grinding rotation of the helicopter's flight capability was near impossible, so he had to put the com microphone practically in his mouth to speak.  Mumbled interference was all he could hear for several seconds while Dr. Valerie Cooper's explanation of the contact was lost amid the vehicle noise.  Val gave him thumbs up for good reception and he nodded gracefully, not wishing to offend her for the lack of technological inadequacy he was experiencing.

Scott's voice quickly boomed like a car horn in his ears as the Mansion's signal was boosted by the Washington D.C ground headquarters.  'Captain – we've grave news for you.  Magneto has set up a defence system around the Savage land, meant to keep intruders out at all costs.  You have to either abort or make sure you don't trigger his flaring wrath – this man is ready to fire off those missiles, we can tell.'

'Missiles?  What missiles are you talking about – I couldn't hear what Valerie was saying… look, we're flying to the Savage land, and I can't fully understand a word you're saying, Summers!'  Fury shouted staring out the misted window of their transport as if the wide open space beyond had the answers.  His concentration went back onto the conversation, and he rubbed his forehead diffidently.

'You have to evade the nuclear missiles he's put up around the perimeter!  The Savage land is guarded…'   

The signal cut out.

Fury's brow furrowed under stress, and he picked himself off the interior's metal seats.  Val screamed above the incredibly loud engine whir.  'He's still on the line, Captain!'  Fury twisted about, but her reaction sent a chill down her spine.

                                                *        *        *

Betsy felt two sets of large arms wrap coldly around her shoulders, and she winced out a stifled cry as another hand shot over her mouth.  Dragged back, her astounded bucking motioned the other two mutants around.  Wanda flinched in dread as the Friends of Humanity protesters flocked in through the doors of the com station.  'Holy Christ – grab the door!'  She screeched, flicking around to hold Scott.  He plucked the shotgun stashed to the side of the monitors and instinctively raised it for the mass of people.  A gut reaction stole his rational sensibilities away; and with the entire pooling wrath he possessed from experience with an impossible number of former antagonists, he detonated, and an index finger strummed the thin metal trigger.  A thick crimson flood of guts burst out of the leading man's chest.

                                                *        *        *

Val jerked back, recoiling, while a feedback shriek hit her questing ears.  'Jesus!  I've just heard a shot go off from their end!  Nick – what the hell is happening over there?'

Fury stepped towards her, but he caught sight of the streaking flurry of white vapour as it whizzed past his glass window.  Dashing to the side, and before he even knew what was happening, the helicopter opposite theirs exploded over the passing waters in an orange plume of smoke and fire.


	11. 1000 yard stare

Writer: Rowland Wells

_Disclaimer:  I am in no way any part of Marvel Comics or any affiliation of their enterprise.  I do not own the X-Men or any Marvel Characters.  _

Alternate 

X-Men 

#22

"1000 yard stare"

Clutching the headset to her head while she tried to decipher the incomprehensible garbled message coming through the com, Dr. Valerie Cooper set the image of her correspondent on-screen.  The giant monitors of SHIELD ground headquarters in the U.S capital displayed the image of Jamison Atkins, adorned in soldier uniform and at the AV controls onboard one of the twenty SI-03mk2 helicopters.  His brow was deeply crumpled, and the expression of anxiety, fear and concern on his face was all to clear as the gigantic speakers next to the mainframe of screens shouted out the crashing explosions hitting outside the interior of his transport.  Behind Atkins, the SHIELD operatives could see the active muster of nervous troops who looked fit to burst from the tension.  They shivered and shook while the percussion smashed against the helicopter's hull; it was ready to split open.  'Much of the barrage has been evaded,' Atkins shouted down the infrequent line 'I don't know how long the machines can hold together under such vibratory stress.  It's truly hit and miss as to whether we can land safely!'

Valerie looked on in mute incredulity.

'…Hang on; I think we've been struck…'  The line crackled quickly.  'It seems to be just a graze; alert the captain here.  What?  Well make sure you're all strapped in!  Hold on a damn second.'

The giant speakers throbbed quietly while the line tried to re-establish contact.

'…keep it down, we can't hear outside!  Get him off the floor, I don't care whether he's dead – we'll be tripping over… what was that?'

The bright spark went off in the background of Atkins's display, and he pumped out a few last words before the entire cabin was consumed with flame.  'That's a positive hit, a positive hit!  We're out of the run…'   

*        *        *

All the soldiers aboard the SHIELD helicopter convoy could do anymore was gaze in disbelief while the smoking gun cloud of fog fluttered majestically above the high cliffs of the Savage land.  Such a miraculous effort was being made to defend the sanctity of the Acolytes most reverend domain, that the armed men felt belittled in the face of it.  

The grating rotor blades of each of their wondrous helicopters masked the roar of hissing steam as more and more projectiles were hurled at lightening speed toward them from the shores and concealed banks of cliffs, hills and caves.  Hundreds of explosions burnt the evening sky like fireworks in a garden, only the payload of each was infinitely more deadly.  The convoy was quickly being diminished, Fury's flying accomplices brought down over the icy Antarctic waters in a blur of fire.  He was able to do nothing about it.

The rockets were sent from Surface-to-Air sites stationed at all points over the network of natural volcanoes and cliffs that decorated the borders of the Savage land.  Such a flurry of shooting missiles and other weapons was creating quite a fog over the atmosphere of the small nation.  The noise was incredible for those below – the simultaneous launching of more than a hundred individual weapons from their housings at different locations.  

It became almost impossible to navigate the flooding influx of objects; some went off beside the speeding helicopters, others missed, and a few struck the convoy procession straight on target.  Even with the technology of countermeasures and nerve-sense movement within the vehicles, they were dropping like flies over the clear blue water below.  Explosions rocked the very sky through which they ploughed, and the chilling inevitability of mortal danger sent everyone into a schizophrenic panic onboard.  The pilots tried as much as they could to dodge and evade incoming projectiles, but the oncoming barrage proved too fortified for many of the drivers to handle.  Either dropping lower or higher to escape such a beating, they were eventually caught in the fire and burned.  Many let off their own armaments before going down, and a stream of gunfire and trailing missile vapour cried their resistance to the very end.  

Fury watched from his view port on the side of the leading SI-03mk2, aghast.  His entire team operation hinged on the reliability of their stealth approach and overwhelming assault, and now both were diminished to hopeless levels.  Having no way to escape the impending danger either was adding to his fear.  The convoy had come too far into the perimeter of Magneto's defences by flying low, and to turn about and run would simply result in total annihilation.  His mouth went dry, his throat burned with gathering self-pity, and a terrible feeling of responsibility clenched at his gut.  He sweated straight through his combat suit.

More and more wingships were destroyed in the orange smoky plumes of bursting slaughter while the thinning convoy progressed shamefully.  Missiles flung at speed past the remaining vanguard as it attempted to navigate the jutting rocks and great icebergs that poked from the shoreline of the Savage land.  They weren't particularly far from touching down, but the constant hail suppressed the helicopters to a hovering crawl.  The crosswind billowing in from thousands of miles of desolate white ice beat against the convoy suddenly, and knocked them off course.  They came dangerously close to smashing into the side of a stretching jut of land, able to escape it only by the abrupt lift of pressuring air that bypassed them in favour of going over the land higher up.  It worked to their advantage as well, sending oncoming projectiles reeling from altered trajectories.  

The five remaining SI-03mk2's were nearly passed the rising falls of the shoreline cliffs, and any defences still active amongst the coast were incapable of preventing their ascension into Magneto's hidden realm.  Through the smoke, wind and fire, they had arrived to bring their adversary to his knees.  Granted their ranks had been thinned considerably, but to all intents and purposes they were still a fighting force.  

Making it past the gauntlet, the convoy hovered low of the serene jungle vistas, spitting low-intensity gunfire greeting them from the postings dotted throughout the land.  This was the time to fight back, and the SI-03mk2's shot off every armament they were carrying.  Spiralling rockets and missiles dashed across the dirt jungle floor, clearing a path for SHIELD to get to Avalon, the epicentre of the Savage land.

                                                *        *        *        

Cortez ran through the grand halls of Magneto's fortress, trying to reach his master in time.  His message was urgent, and the news grave indeed.  Wishing to incite as much inner anger and hatred within the dread lord as possible, Cortez had catalysed the rise of mutantkind with his folly.  Already discovering how to manipulate the weapons systems to their full potential, he had wielded the arms to deadly extent, and nearly obliterated the helicopter convoy.  Several had slipped through, and now the coastal defences could no longer handle internal infection.  He had to brandish the natural fury of Magneto in order to deal the coup de grace to their opposing force.  Further hostility could be treated in time, especially that of Xavier and the rags of his X-Men.  The Acolytes thankfully already had the Wolverine in their grasp, but several more were needed to bulk their cabal, just to display force of power when necessary.  It would be his dreams come true for Fabian Cortez to lord it over the entire mutant race, free from any shackles of aberrant human tyranny and oppression, and the fundamental emotional envy that sprouted right along with it.  

Rounding the last corner at a quick pace, the Spanish mutant entered his master's throne room, observing furtively the arrayed audience.  Magneto stood at his high glass window overlooking the Savage land in all its rare grandeur.  Xavier and Logan knelt by submission from his sister, Anne Marie and Delgado who stood opposite Magneto; the rest of the Acolytes were present in their final hour as well, flocking for their master.  Cortez acknowledged their attendance, and went to the high lord of the domain.  'SHIELD, the United States funded agency is assaulting our borders; they may have already touched down in our midst.  Do I have your permission to confront them?'

Magneto turned wearily from his based position.  'I know of their insolence, Acolyte.'

'What can we do to combat them, besides the defences?'  Pietro asked, standing by his father's side as a son.

Magneto scorned him, but his impatience seemed directed at everyone.  'Perhaps it is not my power and utmost influence defending my people from the Americans' butchery outside of Avalon's walls, then?  Rest-assured that I am taking steps from this spot to ensure protection over my people is paramount among my concerns.'

'Will you stop now that Fury and his forces are making you listen to reason, Erik?'  Charles enquired in a self-aggrandizing way, even though he lay crippled on the floor with Anne Marie's hand clasped firmly around his collar.  'Will you ever give up the "noble cause"?  Do your very people have to fall in cold blood in order for your clouded judgement to accept that blind fact?'

'I say now that my hand resides over every man, woman and child's head under my care in this land.  The indomitable will I hold over my far-reaching abilities certifies that perception!'  He shouted, stepping down from the pedestal.  His steps were abnormally laboured, but he maintained dignity despite.

'And how long can you keep it up for, while the blood courses from old wounds as if they were fresh?'  Charles replied, indicating to his adversary's arduous performance.

A clout to the back of the neck stopped Xavier from further aggravation, and Anne Marie stepped over to her brother.  'Please lord Magneto, we are ready to defy their intentions to the last one among us!  We will not fail you.'

He conceded after mere moments, perhaps knowing that she was right.  'You had better not, woman, or your lives will pay for the consequences.'

                                                *        *        *

The tumultuous jeering cry of the enraged mob echoed dissonantly through the X Mansion's damaged darkened hallways.  Electricity was out for the entire building, and even the backup generator had run down in absence of replenishing the original source.  At the moment of elimination, the monitors inside the secluded com station died, and the cold glow that illuminated Ketteridge's features like a beacon of hope cut out.  He was left in a shroud of black evening light, with little comfort other than a discarded, empty shotgun and a warm spout of crimson blood oozing continuously from his ribs.  He had only been put down several minutes ago, but the frenzied rush to chase the sprinting mutants had left him all alone.  The Friends of Humanity were in the upper levels of the giant estate, and the officer chosen to lead the final raid was by himself.  The wound was fatal, he knew that, but he only wished it had knocked him unconscious for the ride first. 

                                                *        *        *        

The three young mutant outcasts ran for their lives down the abandoned corridors of the Mansion with all the desperation of frightened children.  The mob followed behind them, trying to assemble its members into each of the exits so to cut off the mutant's escape.  Cries went up into the charged atmosphere for blood: 'Cursed muties!  They're all dead anyway!  Kill them!  Hate 'em!'

The racket resounded in their ears, and the three made a quick dash for the conservatory at the back of the main compartment of the estate.  The glass shook with thundering footsteps and shattered above their heads, coating Wanda, Scott and Betsy with falling shards.  Panicky howls went into the air and suddenly, the mob was upon them once more.  Mustering as much hate-fuelled strength as he had just moments before with a gun in his hand, Scott raised his glasses, and a red beam of force drove a thorough wedge straight through the ranks of the FOH.  Burly men and woman hooked on the adrenalin from the chase launched themselves at the helpless three, exhausted and drained to their toes from such frantic exertion.  'Leave us alone!  God, why don't you all just leave us alone?  We're only kids!'

'And one day you'll be old enough to despoil the land on which our descendents fought wars over to claim!  You don't deserve existence in such a rich land!'

The people brandished clubs, knives, custom-made swinging weapons and even guns.  They circled menacingly, ready to lynch the mutants.  One darted for Scott, but he dodged, and let a blast into the man's back.  Another made for him in the wake of his battered companion, but Betsy managed to fling him away with a quick wave of her hand.  They were snatched up in cold, unyielding arms, and prepared themselves for the pathetic end.  'No!  I won't let you butcher more of us to satisfy your unfounded bloodlust!'  Wanda proclaimed defiantly.  She conserved her physical energy, and readied herself.  'Magneto was right to try and kill all of you!  You're a virus, and cancer eating away the very substance of your well-being!  To the end, your motives and actions will have killed off most of the population!  I condemn you all forever!'  She brought about a catastrophic turn of events with her influence over the natural chaos within the world, and shattered the bending structure of the conservatory.  Timber burst and glass fell out of place while heavy footfalls vibrated throughout the destructive scene.  Furniture crumbled to pieces, blocking the path of retreating protesters, and Scott and Betsy were dropped to succumb to the falling mess.  

Quick to react, Betsy projected a psychic bubble up around the three, while her fellow former X-Man let loose with his blasts.  Had it not been for the plummeting flow of crumbling debris, they surely would have held out against their harassment.

                                                *        *        *

Battle cries flew up into the darkened skies over the Savage land as Magneto's Acolytes poured out from the veiling security of Avalon to fight off the SHIELD soldiers.  The SI-03mk2 helicopters had touched down, and their cargo fought back the vicious assault on the accompanying vehicles with a vengeance.  Machine gun fire and scathing screeches of mutant powers blistered across the atmosphere and it became truly deafening amid the once verdant jungle vista floor.  Clearings had been made by burning branches and shrubs set alight with rocket fire by the previously airborne helicopters.  Avalon itself was safe from harm, but only through Magneto's competency.  

Ducking under fire from such aggressive assertiveness, Cortez directed his comrade Acolytes into the fray with all the commanding intensity and majesty of Magneto himself.  The helicopters had been placed in a rather haphazard vanguard on the ground, and the soldiers had taken up an offensive stance around them.  Indicating to his troops, Cortez ordered Delgado, Cargill and Javitz to take out the transports while Anne Marie, Chrome and himself took on the troops with their superior combat techniques.  

A screaming war cry tore the air mightily, and in the name of their leader, the Acolytes hurled themselves into the destructive carnage.  Many of the Savage land's innate defenders were already contesting the soldier's invasion, but their attack was dying off.  Cortez led a mutant-power energized assault on their stability.  Bodies were dashed to the side and flares of power launched into the sky while blood stained the dirt ground a gruesome red.  Machine guns and rockets blasted into the fray, scattered people while many took cover among the discarded wreckage.  The pilots aboard the helicopters fired off the remaining artillery, and colossal blasts rumbled the ground like a devastating earthquake.

As the battle maintained in its earth-shattering design, the Acolytes were confronted with many of the SHIELD soldier's machinations of war.  Hailing bullets and forceful blasts of natural might did nothing to sway the slow-moving warhorses upon which many of the soldiers rode.  Gigantic cybernetic bots, designed to mesh with a human operative via controls headed the assault.  They took the form of human structure, but they were heavily armoured walking annihilators; rockets, gun turrets and self-manoeuvring limbs helping to induce the image of fear in the eyes of the defending mutants.  The bots advanced, taking ground while Acolytes like Delgado, Kleinstock and Javitz were brought under heavy suppressing fire.    

From the hold of one of the lasting SI-03mk2's, Piotr and Kitty emerged, searching for Cortez's betraying form.  Wading into battle as if they were one with the SHIELD troops already, the two mutants took on Delgado's force.  Piotr faced the leading enemy in a fit of exacting retaliation, and before they clashed, an understanding of competency between them was established.  Piotr was already in his towering organic steel form, whereas Delgado had been manipulated by Chrome in his bodily form, only moments before.  Charging like blinded bulls speared in the hide, the two collided heavily, and dust sparked into the air from muscled exertion.  After many blows, Piotr was successful in grounding the Acolyte to the floor, blood wetting the earth beneath their feet.  Delgado collapsed at the dominating mutant's strength, and the former X-Man retreated to press the fight further with other, surviving antagonists.  His vigour ignited by raw violent energy, Piotr waded through the battle solely for Cortez.  Kitty was quick to follow, downing several of the lesser followers with her particular powers.    

Captain Fury was in the thick of the fight as well, having a potent wall of armed-to-the-teeth soldiers surround him as they took on Cortez and Anne Marie personally.  While guns flared all about, and blood was spilled, Fury and Cortez met on the battlefield.  

'I'm glad to see you have the honour of at least facing me man to man, Nicholas.'  Fabian announced, yelling above the raging clamour.  His stubble-swathed jaw was broken, and blood had caked about his mouth, but the pride and arrogance remained intact.  

'I wouldn't have it any other way, fool, now step aside while we storm Magneto's fortress and bring about an end to this genetic war.'  

'I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to allow such a useless gesture, _Captain_, so you'll have to settle with storming me and my sister here instead.  I hope we provide a challenge to your gun-totting GI's.  I'm surprised you didn't carpet bomb this place first, like so many of your cowards in power would suggest.  Perhaps I might even confess to having respect for you.'

'I'm afraid the same can't be said for my views, _Fabian, for I haven't taken so much of a beating to the head yet.'_

In a split second action, the guns were raised, and cries of zealous passion ascended their shaking bodies.  Cortez fired up his power and charged the wall of soldiers, dashing them out of the way with all the ease of doing so to one man alone.  There was a courageous tussle, yet Fury broke the mutant's concentration hastily by pulling from his overloaded strapped harness, his bigger weapons, on the two Acolytes; and opting to break off the assault, he let a bolt of fire off at a diving Cortez.  The mutant dodged at the last second, and disabled him with several quick strokes to the body.  Standing over almost victorious, Cortez couldn't help but revel in his own narcissism.  He was the one man, representing humanity's most dynamic forces, in his defeated state at another born leader's feet.  It was almost ironic.  

'It's a shame I haven't got Earth's attention on live camera feed to do this, Fury, for my relish will be something of a spectacle!  You've been a particular thorn in my side for too long – you are the one who ordered the retaliatory strike on my comrades when we hijacked your transports all those months ago, and many of my allies died in your damning gesture.  How fitting, then, that I apply the pressure to you just as you once did to me.  Only this time, _you don't have the luck of an all-powerful king on your side!'  _

About to apply the killing blow with only a demonic grin to serve as a lasting image, Cortez was ripped from his untainted elation by an unanticipated giant, probing metal grasp.  

Using all his might as he reduced to a flesh form, Piotr slung him into the air, and then hurled him to the ground in a sickening thrash of snapping bones.  'Cortez!'  He screamed his chords wet with coughing blood.  'This is for my cousin whom you betrayed so readily in the past!  You'll die today, just as you meant for everyone in my family to when Ahmed was paid off for our weapons!  What is the price for death among simple tools of war?'  He shouted, looming over the deceitful traitor.    

Weeks gone by of agonising over what he would do to this slithering piece of work finally concluded, and for such a time, this was the only moment Piotr felt his life had been building too.  'How about we find out Acolyte?'      Transforming himself to the hardened metal form for its deserved climax, Piotr raised his foot and stamped down on the man's chest with all his welling rage and fervour.  

Cortez countered a fraction faster. 

The Acolyte rolled off of the dirt suddenly, and Piotr would have caught up with him had Anne Marie not fortunately shot Kitty clean through the leg with a lead slug.  

Instantly, the Russian was by her side, but while he tended to her, the two snakes escaped into the fray.  Fury was left by their side thankful, but very alarmed.

                                                *        *        *

The Mansion was collapsing all around them to the very earth and stone from which it was constructed.  The walls were falling in brick by brick, and the floors were splitting apart by the timber used to lay each surface down.  Having to escape the devastated conservatory had taken its extreme toll on the three young mutants, and the Friends of Humanity mob had still not stopped hounding them.  Attempting to exit the estate that had so much as only brought trouble for them since their arrival so many days before, they found the outlets blocked by die-hards at every turn.  Screams radiated throughout the collapsing hallways, and the Mansion itself began to crumble.  Scott indicated to Betsy and Wanda to race for the concealed hatch placed behind the main corridors.  If they were to escape, it would have to be through there.  The mob was gaining space between themselves and the wounded mutants at an ever increasing pace, and only the power of sheer determination might separate the two feuding parties long enough for some to survive.  It was becoming a race against time itself, to leave before the inevitable conclusion began.

Already the foundations of genocide had been laid, and now the only incentive was to satisfy insatiable blood lust.  It would be the quick turn of a dream into its terrible counterpart.

                                                *        *        *

Falling back over the same ground the SHIELD soldiers were quickly gaining, the remaining Acolytes fled to the hallowed walls of Avalon.  The helicopters had been reduced in number by one, and although many of the soldiers had died during the courageous battle, some were still present to chase Magneto's followers to the grounds on which they adamantly defended.  The Savage land had been a different matter altogether, as Magneto's Fortress was sacrosanct.  

The walls were high above ground level, and an arcing closed entrance greeted the sights of both parties while each waged a terrific last stand.  Making it past the palisades for which the Acolytes had erected in order for such a baptism of fire, Anne Marie was quick to rally the remaining leaders of their glorious higher cause.  She was exhausted, physically as well as mentally, but her determination stood constant.  She brushed away the sweat, blood and tears to look over her ranks.  Delgado, however damaged he was, physically was still present, as was Chrome and Cargill.  They looked to her for command, but Anne Marie found herself dwelling nervously on the whereabouts of her brother.  Her thoughts were dissolved by more claustraphobic cracking gunfire from the soldiers across the bare locale.  She turned to embrace it.

                                                *        *        *

Chancing a look after the noise had diminished somewhat in the landing area, Victor Creed snuck out from his holdings inside an abandoned SI-03mk2.  Deciding to go it alone, instead of operating under the pretence that he was now working for SHIELD as an agent like Piotr and Kitty, he disappeared into the jungle, watching hopefully for any signs of Logan, who he supposed was already here as part of the X-Men.  He was wrong, but it didn't bother him.

He avoided much of the fighting occurring just outside the huge metal fortifications of Avalon, and attempted to find a back way in.  Fury was busy taking on the Acolytes, so Victor presumed it would be his best time to leave.  'I'll be free of a holding grasp yet.'  He mused, stalking through the undergrowth toward the fortress.

                                                *        *        *

Navigating the bare hallways of Avalon once more in search of his master, Cortez discarded the heavy weapons on his back, favouring speed over anything else.  He could see outside through the giant glass windows, and his jaw went slack as the view came startlingly close to the construction in which he moved.  The oppressive fire was being directed at the entrance, and before it broke, the defending Acolytes would die.  He was sure of that.  

He arrived, breathless, at the throne room and nearly slipped on the polished marble floors placed within.  Brushing the fair hair from his face, and wiping away the stains, his voice bellowed in the high room.  'My lord, the agents of America are about to penetrate your defences!  We must counteract their movements with our own majesty.  Send the missiles over to Washington and we shall see if they can justify their attack on our home!'

Magneto stood from his throne, and stepped down for the last time.  'I shall go out to defend _my_ home from their senseless violence, Fabian, and it will be my will alone that brings about their punishment in the end, not yours – my servant.'

'You are not listening to me, my lord,' Cortez panted out, his aggravation rising while the shaking anxiety of recent events coursed through his veins 'the time is now!  We must wreak a terrible vengeance on their homeland, lest ours be consumed by fire!  How long will you wait for such an act of retribution for the thousands – millions – of lives needlessly erased by the same government who initiated the Sentinels?  We must exact our revenge on them before they break apart Avalon from the inside!'

Magneto whirled around on the pedestal of his platform.  'I will not be goaded into carrying an apocalyptic age for mankind on this planet, so that your wrath can be extinguished Cortez!'

'But your people need you, for god's sake, now more than ever!'

'See what you have become in your race's hour of need, Erik?'  Charles called urgently from the side of the room.  'You have no compunction about letting them die, to save your own skin!  You are not the man I remember at all!'

'Silence!  You will speak only when spoken to!'  Cortez barked, spitting at the floored Xavier.  'Launch the missiles my lord!  Show them you will not be reasoned with!'

'No – you must stop your conflict –'  Charles yelled.

'I must dominate them!'  Magneto screamed, silencing the entire room with a thunderous clout of his voice.  'I will not make peace with them, and I will not wipe them out in a foolish fell swoop, just to show humanity that I can, Cortez.  My dream is to supplant leadership, not drown under unprovoked combat or demonstrate my vast force by obliterating and therefore condemning the entire planet with a nuclear arsenal!'

'Unprovoked?'  Charles uttered astonished.  'Have you truly become so bewildered with irreverent delusions of world-wide megalomania that you can't even remember your own history?  I would have thought your mind be returned to normalcy, not subverted to a fantasy dream concocted by your most trusted slave!'

'You will keep your tongue held, worm, lest I clamp your mouth shut with my bare, bleeding thumb and forefinger!'  Cortez threatened, stepping close and looming over Xavier's crippled body.

A rupture from outside made the entire building shudder with disturbing vibrating pulses.  The blocked entrance had been destroyed, and successful cheering soldiers were quickly leaking through the jagged gaps.  

Watching the conflicting interests in the room with mounting disgust, Logan jumped up from the floor where he knelt under Magneto's watchful eye, and insolently blocked Cortez's path to Charles.  'Keep at a distance, bub, or you're gonna wish you'd severed my damn hands off when you took me.'

'Enough!'  Magneto snarled intolerantly.  'I have had enough of this turbulent insanity that has somehow dawned on you all!  I wish no more to hear from you of how my dream must be changed, or carried out.  My vision is the way I constructed it – resolute – and to all intents and purposes, I am the sole being able to play god with my pawns in Avalon.  My Acolytes acted under your advisement Cortez, and now you run from them to persuade me to strike out retribution unto my supposed enemies from thousands of miles away?  I never suspected that cowardice was a part of you!'

'You will pray you had never uttered those words, _my lord.'  Cortez replied, grating his teeth as the sounds of battling agony inched ever closer to their inviolability._

'You're gonna pray you'd never said that, either, mongrel.'  Logan chimed obnoxiously, while Magneto rebuked his protégé.

'Can you hear those cries for help outside, Erik?  Can you?  Or do they fall on deaf ears?  Ears that would rather listen to a symphony so sweet of an immediate and unchallenged victory granted by the pitiable United Nations – giving up all land, wealth and power under their jurisdiction, unconditionally and without petulance – to you – the self-appointed master of magnetism and saviour of all mutantkind on God's Earth.  Perhaps the designation you have so appropriately heralded yourself is simply a malapropism!  Maybe you cannot rule over even your own children!  Where is Wanda Maximoff?  Why is _she not by your venerable side?  And where is your wife, Erik?  The woman who left you for fear of her life!  I'll tell everyone present why: because your daughter recognises the insanity with which you carry, reaching new heights in your naive judgment!  Never was there a fool greater than oneself when the realisation of arrogance dawns!  Your Acolytes were nothing more than loyal terrorist partisans, inspired by simple, mindless rhetoric which meant nothing to their limited worldly understanding!  And _these_ then, are the people unto which you place your life, you livelihood, your health and the stability of a small nation with the ability to eternally change future history for the better or worse?  Call me a fool Erik, but I believe you've escalated a grave error in your logic to immense proportions.  I only feel pity for such a mislead fool as yourself – taking comfort in self-conceived lies and misappropriated faith.'_

'You defy the essence of intellect, Charles Xavier, the fabric of a man's understanding, because you can do no better!  Such a mistake is going to cost you dearly as I deal out a blow I should have brought down many a year ago when you first confronted me.  Little did I think that you would appear as a thorn in my side for so long a time after that one moment!  Had I the foresight, I might have changed your fate so that you weren't let off so easily!'  Magneto scowled hatefully.

'And _that_, Erik, is why you shall never prevail.  Even if you kill me now, you will still lack that simple element of a man's rationale.  You lack _foresight.  If I am defeated today, still will you be without it until the day you die too – lonely and wizened – and no amount of worthless slugs that proclaim your dream is the perfect vision for a race on the brink of extinction can ever change that lacking in your flawed personality; because you, like your followers, are nothing but a flawed man with a defective mirage as grounds for your argument and reasoning!  Cortez, the man whom you hold in such high regard is the same villain who stabs you as deeply as he tries to mask his effects with a veil of fanatical adoration!  _He_ is the one who deals you the physical and mental blow which you feel others have contributed so wholeheartedly too.  It is him, and solely him!'_

'So you, on the other hand, Xavier, with your trail of gangly, incompetent children, are _perfect_!  You are going to change the world for the better!'  Magneto screamed, burning a hole of untamed revulsion and detest straight through his raw vocal chords.  

He let loose a terrible pitching cry, and flung out in frightful bleak anger as his power disintegrated the arch at the top of the high-ceilinged room.  Tons of marble, steel and splintered rubble cascaded downwards lethally, and Charles just managed to deflect the onslaught with the urgent questing of his great mind.  Magneto grappled with the metal restraints fastened about Xavier's body, and lifted him off the floor.  It took great strain from his weakened body and such exertions produced visual flailing bolts of uncontained power that struck out as if commanded by his subconscious.  He illuminated the giant throne room while darkness began to descend through the giant windows.  

The audience ducked and dived as the angled skewing magnetic strikes smashed into walls, into the floors and ceiling, and skewered clear through the high glass windows.  His scream cut through the audience as the glass shattered terrifically, and Xavier was hurled maliciously into the air with the lord's last iota of will.  'I no longer require you in my presence, Charles, for you­­_bore_me!  I will break you!'  Magneto's throat split under the strain, and he coughed up red-stained spittle, before toppling to his knees.

                                                *        *        *

Xavier felt his every fibre begin to snap under such a sprain, and it felt as if the bones in his body were becoming dislocated from their sockets at every moment.  He cried out in confused and unregistered agony, desperately seeking for any form of help be it friend or foe while Magneto's compelling might fractured him apart from the inside.  It took his entire learned mastery of his mind to stop the essence of Charles Xavier becoming undone.  Nerve endings were burning under unbelievable tension, his bone cartilage was cracking sporadically and flesh was literally tearing at the seams; he was slowly being paralysed internally.  'Erik – don't be the one to do this to me!  I remain a friend through all our differences; can you not even see friendship in common companionship when it stares you in the face?  Dear god, if you cannot feel me now, you never could in our previous lifetime!  Make the one good decision of your life, right here and right now, the single one truth that matters between us, and leave me be!'

Maintaining his unshakeable conviction and even hardier control over Charles's suspended, tortured soul, Erik crawled to the floor holding steady in his vigour as his last ounce of life drained under simple bodily tension.

'I'll… show you I was right…'  Magneto gargled out as he sensed Charles on the final, fatal brink of death.  

Cortez traitorously rounded his struggling form, unchallenged, and gripped Magneto roughly by the scruff of the neck.  'So too does another life end in the process; the existence of my lord, my master, and my god!'  He channelled his innate malevolence into his reserves of deceitful control, and fuelling the demise of his master all the sooner, cried out his success ferociously.  The two men's lives were finally in his hands.

With an animal roar of uncontained rage and sombre realisation, Logan leapt from his shackled restriction and extended all six claws evocatively through the covering metal cuffs.  The ripping sound of crumpling metal echoed throughout the tense yet silent throne room, and Logan screamed viscerally, ploughing through the barrage of the lord's guarding consultation.  'No!  I won't let you defile the one man whose dream could sprout to fruition among our dying world!  Not in this goddamn lifetime of mine!'  Logan jerked his arm back, ready to plunge the fateful blow through Magneto's exposed neck.  A last shred of dignity from the man's power kept it at bay for mere moments longer by will alone.  He breathed out lasting traces of a sentence even with the tormenting war corrupting his body from the inside out.  '…Go on, Wolverine… you seem so content to lay waste to me… it's the role you have always been ready for… the executioner... [_aaahh]… to kill a bull… a raging bull.'_

The invisible barrier receded almost as quick as it was erected, and Logan thrust his claws into Magneto's back, piercing the armour, flesh, bone, blood and tissue as if it were the softest earth and clay.  

'Father – don't leave me!'  Pietro screeched rushing to the man's dying side in a fit of paternal respect and climbing sorrow.

Cortez threw himself at Logan, ready to tear out the man's heart for all his trouble.  'Race traitor – you have solely condemned our species forever!'

A mighty clash ensued, and while they tangled fiercely, Charles dropped the distance to the rubble-littered marble floor.  He crashed down, his body barely registering the pain from impact, but rather concentrating on the pure relief of freedom from strain.  He almost passed out, but managed to stay afloat in a sea of blurry-eyed, agony-induced consciousness.

                                                *        *        *

Logan battered away Cortez's raging arms and legs, the Acolyte's focus in combat lost completely with unsubstantiated grief.  As the two contested each other, the walls and floors rumbled with the tumult of approaching footsteps from both the soldiers and remaining fanatics.  The fighting was retreating into the heart of Avalon, and Cortez managed to break from combat at the distraction.  'So be it… farewell Wolverine, I've made my point unto your species and masters… my manipulation has at last reduced this world to a hopeless mass of dry land, where none can rule – not even a follower of your _precious dream.  I'll see you in another lifetime perhaps…'  He turned tail and ran for the main hallways where the windows were rattling from the increasing stress of vibrations.  _

'Let him go, Logan!  We have to… see… to Erik.'  Charles breathed out, crawling hand over hand to his destroyed friend.  His body may have been wrecked for the time being, but Xavier was still the same man under such effort.  Much of the same could not be said for Erik Lehnsherr.

                                                *        *        *

'They're closing in!  Wanda, Betsy come on for chrissakes, we're not trying to goad them into tailing us!'  Scott lifted the concealed panel in a flurry of sweat and blood; he wiped the trail coursing down his nose, and then patted Betsy as she dashed in through the exit in the wall.  Closing in behind them were the Friends of Humanity mob, who had so far blocked their every turn and exit with sheer numbers of grass-roots political die-hards, ready to gut and lynch the three young mutants for their very genetic make-up.  

Wanda dashed foot in front of foot toward the exit Scott was positioned at.  She slowed to a halt beside him suddenly.  'I never should've led you both back here.  This entire city has become a death-trap for our species.'

'I haven't got time to rebuke you for your generous actions, Wanda; it's because of you we're not already dead in that guarded hospital.'  

She kissed him suddenly, placing a loaded shotgun into his hands from another storage station found in her excitement.

'I was late, and I'm sorry.  It won't happen again.'

She bundled him through the panel door suddenly, shoving the door shut while he stood on the outside begging her to let him back in.  

She ignored his protests, and let off several of the shotgun rounds before discarding the weapon into the oncoming fray of mutant-haters.  'I'm more than ready for you in death than I ever was in life!'  She cried, accepting the conclusion.  Bodies were struck and fell into lifeless corpses as the onslaught of people trampled them under foot.  'I pray the shadows consume me before they do.'

Her powers rippled up the side of the Mansion walls, burning the very essence with which the estate was once constructed.  Waves of convulsing tension and pressure echoed through every joist, turning and panel, and in an entire tidal wave wash of consuming fate, the X Mansion fell apart.

                                                *        *        *

Leaving the warring nations behind through his ministrations of iniquity and downright bitterness and spite, Fabian Cortez charged down the halls of Magneto's Avalon with all the vigour and energy of one attempting to escape his closing confrontation with God.  He screamed his release from the manacles of oppression under his former-master's regime of preordained destiny, and a schizophrenic laugh of victorious conquest rattled the cages of those he passed in his wake.  They stared on in mute anticipation as Cortez prepared to ignite the fires of hell underneath their feet.

                                                *        *        *

'He's almost too fatally wounded, Chuck, I dunno whether I can do anything for him.  My knowledge of medicine don't go beyond that of first aid an' all – and you know more than I do.'  Logan described, pulling apart the jutting stems of wet, crimson flesh.  His finger passed over the wounds, and he stared guiltily at his handiwork.  Pietro hovered over them mutely and pierced their ears with his worry.  'I never wanted anything to turn out like this, you must believe me, Xavier – it was never an intention… I don't know what happened to him, I swear.'

Charles slowly and tenderly displaced the red on purple helm from Magneto's greying looks.  'My god, Logan, did you ever think to realise?  He might be dead because of your resilience.'

'Better him than you – I'm not interested in which one takes over the whole planet, but with both of you dead, I wasn't about to let that rat Cortez stand above humanity.'  Logan removed the armour set up on Erik's chest and inspected the depth of his attack.  It repulsed him, staring at it in so close a detail.

'…Cortez…'  Pietro uttered menacingly.  His eyes turned to the broken archway through which the fighting was shocking the foundations of Avalon.  'I must pay my respects to that snake devil.'

As Logan looked back, the son had disappeared.

'There's too much at stake here, we can't save the man with medicine… I'm afraid I can no else.'  Charles placed a hand over Erik's blood-stained forehead.

'I hate to say this, but you must try, Xavier… we cannot have him die as a martyr; not t'live in infamy, and not to live in martyrdom it seems.'  Logan replied forlornly.

Concentrating as much as tried amid the approaching wail of battling noise, Charles placed his hand at Erik's disengaging mind.  He attempted to connect to the brain through which he had done before, but navigating the incredible defences the man had erected in his paranoia made it difficult, even if his hold on life was as tenuous as it could be.  The Acolytes plunged exhausted and beaten through the giant arch of the throne room, and Logan leapt to waylay their fanatical insurgence.  Fury's troops followed through, many of them dead or dying through the sheer force of will set about on the opposing side.

* Reach out to me, Erik, in death as you have in life. *  

Charles communicated silently by thoughts alone, trying to establish a link that could somehow satisfy his aim.  * Open your mind as you have before… *  All he could see was a murky fog issuing from the furthest recesses of Erik's mind; clouded thoughts, judgments, opinions and barriers stood in the way, proving far to defensive than Charles had bargained for.  He penetrated the first layer, finding the progress slow, but as known and anticipated, the speed of thought meant nothing to time travelling under normal circumstances.  Charles could eliminate Erik's fences in no time at all, yet it took him great concentration to navigate the terrifying gauntlet of open thoughts.  Erik's in-built resistance was another aspect Xavier had not counted on.  

With all the damage done physically to his body, it was a wonder that the man had any strength left to fight in mind.  

'… Let me die alone, Charles… you poor man… just turn away.'  He managed to murmur out loud.  

His words fell on deaf ears while the X-Man drove deeper into the enveloping abyss.  The blackness of the depths felt foreboding, unyielding, but it let him penetrate as far down as possible due to Erik's incapacitation.  Charles reached through the fog with his probing thoughts, ploughed down further into the cavernous unknown with all his tenacity.  He pleaded for an end to the damage, a final fight to draw out a victory dream in the sand so that they might follow the path together.  He was becoming delusional.

'Fury, we have to stop Cortez – the bastard's getting away and there ain't anything we can do to catch him up if we fight amongst ourselves!'  Logan hollered, trying to reach across the great expanse of the warring throne room.  Guns blazed to the left and right of him, and for a spilt second, he thought he might fall apart from the welling, densely-felt fanatical hatred and resilience echoing in emotions throughout Avalon.  It was tangible among the smoky air.  

The defying Acolytes brought up the resistance still, fighting to the last man standing.  

'We are kings upon Earth, human slaves!  Bow before us, or we will crush you to dust!  Magneto Rex lives on!'

Logan had to drive away the threat of Cortez's sinful nurturing actions.  

* For once in your life, Erik, let me feel you from the inside! *  Charles screamed desperately.  His telepathic flare stretched out from Magneto's mind like a rising phoenix, and through both men's aged bodies; the essence of life inflamed them both in glowing turmoil.  Magneto's form arched upwards as if ripped apart at both ends.  He loosed a terrible cry of agony among the noising, claustrophobic fighters, and he sucked in longing mouthfuls of polluted air, trying to grasp onto the few shreds of animated life still present in his mind.  

'My measures bring forth a new life…'  Charles gasped, at last resting from his search.  Such efforts ravaged his body, and he fell to his back.

Magneto shot into the air encased in a white light, the purest visible form of all his energy and vigour.  His eyes were aflame, and he bulged outwards, filling the form of his original self intensely.  He rushed the helm off of his head, and hovered in the air briefly.  'Cortez!  Where are you, my nemesis?'  Before they might stop him, Magneto had projected a globe through the marble roof of Avalon, and his form flew through it.  

'Magneto's gone, leave the Acolytes!'  Fury shouted, recalling his battling troops.  They let loose suppressing fire, attempting to retreat under cover, but many more were lost as the fanatics pressed back.  

Over the pitching wail of spitting shots, Logan crashed down to Charles's side on knees, hoisting him up in arms.  His face was grave with anxiety.  'Ain't no way left to go, Xavier, but out.'

                                                *        *        *

'Where are you, my Acolyte?  Are you cowering under your shroud of indecency toward my father?'  Pietro crooned maliciously, searching out Cortez's slithering form ahead of any other power.  

Wiping away the gritty sweat accumulating on his brow in the immensely humid heat, he then ducked into the Weapons Control Room that Cortez had so easily wielded in order to waylay the storming soldiers.  The lights had been dimmed so only red warning bulbs glowed ethereally among the banks of machinery.  They were under a spell of alert in the Fortress.  

Pietro pierced the darkness with his eyes while a body crawled behind his sight in the veil of blackness.  'Come hither to me, Fabian, and I'll crucify your pathetic body.'  

The son edged further, but a hard clout to the back of his neck slammed Pietro to the floor, and he gagged slightly, coughing up blood that pulsed through his throat.  The wet crack of bone alerted his attention, and Pietro rolled onto his back.  'You worm, you… you strike me down from behind?'

'You, my dearest slave-son of Magneto, should know,' Cortez began hauling the mutant by his streaking grey hair over to the multitudinous banks of systems 'that I always play the most surreptitious hand I receive.  You, then, are the wild card that I shall put forth to ensure my victory stays as a triumph, and not a failure.' 

'You arrogant pig…'  He muttered.

Cortez splashed Pietro's bleeding head against the hard back of the computers, and let the twin slump to the floor.  

Sitting down at the controls, he flicked several switches, and typed in a password.  Dwelling on the simplicity of it all in his overconfidence, Cortez sat up and walked over to the main button encased in glass protection.  He grinned malevolently, stroking his finger of the barrier quickly.  With a focussed burst, he shattered the glass and stabbed his finger down on the seminal button.  

                                                *        *        *

From every cove situated on the part of the Savage land, tremendous rumbling issued as if it were each volcano simultaneously erupting at the same time.  The very ground shook with fatal vibrations, and silo hatches popped open with a smooth swish of oiled metal.  Within them, the locking mechanisms had been engaged, restraining the launch of each nuclear missile as it shuddered while engine fuel burnt beneath it.  

The Savage land had its pilot light lit through Cortez's wrath, and now his actions were about to apply the lit flame.

Colossal sensations rippled throughout the structure of the nation, and balance was destroyed while it rumbled for release from the sparks burning holes through its skin.

                                                *        *        *

Flying high above the Savage land, and his desecrated fortress Avalon, Magneto looked down on his people and bore witness to his misplaced trust in Cortez.  His dream had been for nothing, all because of faith gone wrong with one determined individual, bent on his own penchant for unnecessary genocide.  If a world must die for one man to prove his supremacy, then truly that man was the devil himself.  

Magneto froze mid-flight and chills resonated up along his spine as a lone missile thrust itself into the air, a billowing torrent of orange smoke flowed from its engines.  He pulled his hand for strength and influence over the sole object, but his might had been reduced to ineffectual pressure over his own body.  Cortez had betrayed him, and that wound hurt the most because it meant he could not save his own from a terrible vengeance.  

The lonely missile levitated solemnly in the air, and then twisted into the darkened atmosphere above.  It spiralled out into the unknown, and Magneto was powerless to halt its trail-blazing path.

                                                *        *        *

Leaving the damaged temple of Avalon far behind through the warring duress, Logan grunted and strained, carrying Charles with him towards the abandoned SHIELD helicopters.  Finding it hard to talk whilst the weight wrenched at his arms and shoulders, Logan huddled along the trodden paths, trying to find a way back before the Acolytes completely subdued Captain Fury and the retreating soldiers.  The Savage land was beginning to fall apart.

'I never should have doubted you, my friend; you were a valued addition to the collection of X-Men.  I want you to know Logan; I bear you no ill-will for what you underwent with the others at Weapon X… I was wrong to give up on a search for you; I wasn't aware of your reasons for abandoning them.'  Charles said.

'So you know Charlie… I was recruitin' Rogue and Remy for ya team… course, other things got in my way, like they always do.  I was tryin' ta be welcomed back into open arms.'  

Suddenly he stopped, and Charles stared out at the obstacle.  'Who…?'  He asked wearily.  Logan dropped Charles's legs to the floor, and stared incredulously at the man before him.  'My god, Creed, you never leave us alone, do ya?'

'Not if I can help it runt.'  

Charles landed on his backside roughly as Logan braced himself while Sabretooth lunged at his exhausted form.  'What're you even doing here?'  Logan cried out, dodging lethal blows from ten sharpened nails.  

'Fool Fury brought me aboard to hunt down Spaskyich – 'course, he ain't even in this goddamn place anyway!'  Sabretooth immediately dived to action; he wrought wounds over Logan's body in their flailing fracas and Charles was about to intervene when an arm wrapped itself around his chin and neck.  The ripping sound of cartilage sounded amid the scuffling and Xavier was dropped unconscious to the floor.  

Sabretooth separated from the Wolverine's clawing embrace just long enough to gape open-mouthed as his eyes met with great dead, dark black ones.  His mouth went slack-jawed and Logan took the advantageous moment to strike him brutally through the cheek with three claws.  Blood sprayed over the locale in a grisly display, and Logan stared at his new opponent.  'Care to unhand my friend there, pal?'  He howled, showing his fangs and spitting blood at the figure.  He was near to breaking point.

Stepping from the shadowed darkness of overhanging branches and shrubs, a figure Logan had not recognised at first approached him.  'You are the bane of my existence, Wolverine, and I intend to rip you apart before you cause pain to anyone further in your pathetic existence.'

'Give me a name first; ya bastard, and then we'll have your brawl...'  Logan stretched out his claws ferociously, and Sabretooth leapt from the ground, dirt and crimson spittle coursing over all of them.  'It's Spaskyich you worm!  Wake up!'

A quick, spiked arm lunged from the ex-Commander's form and impaled Victor Creed through the abdomen.  He was sent hurtling into the bush and undergrowth, shrieking wildly.  

Logan took the chance to strike, and embedded the claws on his left hand through Spaskyich's chest.  Unbelievably, the adamantium phased straight through like he was cutting into the thin mist.  The claws plumed tufts of liquid essence into the air, but the flesh seemed only to reform at once.  Hawk beamed insanely, congratulating himself proudly for his performance, and then projected another spike from his twisting, warped arm into Logan's neck.  An arc of red blood sprung out from the wound and spouted like a whale would, coming to the water's surface.

'I came here to finish what I started so long ago, friends… a definitive retribution over Creed, Logan and finally Charles Xavier – the fool who caused so much trouble for the world with your irresponsible mutant harmony vision.  So much for all that, eh?'  Spaskyich stated arrogantly, standing over the unconscious man with avowed intent glowing richly in his dead eyes.  He emanated glorious conceit through his face, and a wide, smug grin tweaked his grey cheeks at the side.  Raising a hand to call down a determined fatal blow, the moment was sullied, for fate stood in the way of the mutant hybrid he had become.  Sabretooth protruded from the hedges, sulking intensely, and then struck down his former tormentor with all the voracious lust he might muster.  'Say, Hawk, I don't remember you ever lookin' as disgusting and repulsive as that?  What did Essex do to you?  Your goddamn head ain't put on right.'  The feral mutant grinned toothily, and straddled the man bearing his ten razor-sharp nails.  He drew them quickly across his adversary's brow, and was delighted to see a gush of matter fly away with his swinging knuckles.

Spaskyich hurled Victor off him suddenly, warping his body so that he stood behind the mutant in a horrific fluid motion.  'He made me more than a man!  I'm the ultimate Weapon X – even you are incapable of killing me with simple blunt force.'  Spaskyich stuck several of his spiked fingers through Sabretooth's guts, tearing at the flesh with all the renewed vigour of a hunter making his first kill.  'You always were the worst there was!'

'Goddamn you, ya viper!  I'll see to it that you're six feet under before your demented insight has any authority over our world!'  

In a lightening-fast sequence of moves, Logan upped from the dirt and dust to combat one of his oldest enemies – a demon waving a presence in the recesses of his memory that would now be stubbed out of existence.  He brought down three claws at such a vicious angle that it cleaved Spaskyich's arm clean off.  'Get it into your thick skull, Hawk; you cannot dominate a species who betters you – the original gutter-crawling rat – in every way possible!  Take your damn speeches of human dominance, supremacy over mutants, and the ingenious acumen you possess and get the hell away from us!'  Logan tossed Spaskyich to the floor in a torrent of flesh and blood, and let him lie wounded.  The stillness of the defeated body burdened him for reasons he could not explain.

At the same moment, the rumbling all over the island shook up to terrifying intensity.  It was as if it was going to tear in two from vibrations echoing out of the locked-down missile silos stored deep in secluded coves.  An almost cramping boom of thunder-clap explosions was closing in on them fast, and it crushed the people in the small clearing as if it were a simple lack of breath.  

The thundering footsteps of soldiers rattled past the three squirming mutants unexpectedly and Fury caught Logan and Charles up in the rush.  'The Savage land has been set to ignite through the nukes on board!  Logan, grab Charles and get the hell out of here before we're caught in the blast!  We don't have no more time!'

The soldiers ran past them, firing periodically at the Acolytes dogging obsessively just behind.  It was a stampeding horde, and they would be trampled to death in the escape if not careful.    

                                                *        *        *

From on high, Magneto watched, conserving his power for the burst in which he might save his disciples and the other people aboard his most sacrosanct home.

                                                *        *        *

Throwing Spaskyich off him in a fit, Sabretooth crawled to a standing position with Logan.  'Let me finish him off; for all he's done to us, he deserves it.'  

Logan scowled at his adversary, letting a common goal finally come between them both.  Perhaps he might, in his urgency, leave Victor to his own means.

Rising beside them from the ground, Spaskyich laughed manically, displaying his warped abilities for them to witness even as the Savage land began to become sheathed in the warm glow of flame.  'You can't kill me… I just grow right back.'  He said, grinning through his grey skin and dead eyes.  The red mark was prominent on the side of his temple, and Sabretooth indicated to it sullenly.  'Just like Essex; a fool livin' a fool's dream.  You're nothing but a failed experiment, and a more worthless one than either of us.'

Spaskyich formed a pasty lop-sided leer on his grey face, and limped over to Creed.  He growled at last like an untamed beast, willed into the ensuing brawl by a greater force than his willpower.  His spirit and soul were as subject to another's experiments and designs as the unsuspecting victims of Weapon X had once been.  Deciding to bring his predestined encounters with his mutant employees to a close, Hawk struck out for Sabretooth's repulsive face, attempting to wipe forever that vindictive and gormless grin off his stubble-infected, scarred features.  'The Wolverine's abandoned us, but you're still here… to the last man standing go the spoils, Victor.  I hope you're ready for me after all these years of torment I put upon you… brighten up, kitty; with you, I'm going to paint this place red.'

Logan once again scooped up Charles in his arms, letting the blood from his wounds course of the man's unconscious body.  His will was adamant for this man, and even if it took him out of the running from sheer exhaustion and drained strength, he would see Xavier escape the damning condemnation of Cortez's injustice.  

Leaving Sabretooth behind to finish what had been accumulated through over four arduous, long forgotten decades of quelled hopes, evoked fears, dashed memories and lost loves, the last of the X-Men vanished into the ether, hoping to escape their relentlessly hounding demons.

                                                *        *        *

Fury stopped by the helicopter holds, ferrying his deadened men into the compartments with all the zeal of a mother protecting her firstborn from danger.  'Come on!  We haven't got long to escape the shockwave!'

Val skidded to a halt by his side suddenly.  'Nick!  What about the people here!  We can't just leave them to die!' 

The ground rumbled once more, trembling debris over the area while Val steadied herself.  'The entire land is going up, Captain…'

The trampling footsteps of the soldiers were halted mid-stride while the tumult of Acolytes slowed to watch Magneto descend among them.

'Let me make amends for my past crimes, Captain.  I may not be able to contain the impending disaster, but at least let me speed you on your way.'

'And what of your followers?  Do you condemn them to the same fate even though their leader has changed his damn opinions about the rest of us?  Will you be that hardhearted for your children in the face of your own mortality?'  Fury accused, shoving the rest of his unit into only two of the helicopters.  'Won't at least you come with us?'

'No.'  They replied obdurately, choosing to stand as one with their master.

'I suggest you leave; there is nothing more to experience in this fated domain.  I can see now that Cortez was my Judas – the one whom my kiss meant nothing too – nothing but a traitor and a turncoat to his race and his deity.  That was my error – first and only.  Let me not make another by waylaying you any longer, for it is taking nearly my entire diminished reserves of influence to withhold this approaching onslaught.  Do not bring me with you, for the single power holding this land together is under my own command.'

'Don't be a fool, Magneto – Cortez ensured you would die a martyr – don't prove him right by shedding your own blood!'

Magneto waved his passing concern away blindly, and took control of Piotr's metal sheathed form suddenly, animating a great arm the Russian possessed.  Piotr picked up Fury in his steadfast grip, and depositing them in the back, had control over his body relinquished moments later.  Magneto sealed the hatch to the hold, and turned from his saviour adamantly.

'Don't be a goddamn martyr – not for all you're worth!'  Fury screamed, as the doors were slammed shut in a silencing swish of displaced air.  The lord elevated the two helicopters into the air and hurled them out of the orbit of the Savage land.

'What then, of Xavier?'  Fury called as his last words were blown in the sudden vacuum of wind.

Magneto turned to the jungle, cursing his own spirit for such a mistake.  He screamed mightily in rash anger and tore up the beaten earth around his body and his enduring Acolytes as the unearthly glow of terrible fire encroached on his waning dominion.

                                                *        *        *

Logan felt the ground beneath his feet burn as his tearing arms burst trying to carry Charles through to the clearing.  They approached the area, witnessing in the low-light and bursting crack of noise Magneto's final egression with his Acolytes.  Rebuking himself for the last time, Logan collapsed to the floor, too weak to reach the remaining helicopters.  'I've failed myself…'  He groaned, defeated.  Charles stared out into the illuminated sky as the warheads encased in each missile reached critical mass.  The seconds counted down, and his eyes locked with the everlasting abyss of his own inevitability.  'We tried, Logan – as a race – to survive, but most of the time… it's not worth it.  In the end, we are only subjects to our own futility.'

Charles released a pent-up anguished cry that had been nearly thirty years in the making and a flare of uncompromising fury leeched out into the world.

                                                *        *        *

As the Mansion shook, the foundations crumbling to dust in the earth from Wanda's exertion, Graydon Creed looked on from a distance.  A smile painted his face delicately as he pressed a button situated on a small pad within his jacket pocket.  'So too, ends another era in chaos.'  He muttered gladly, pressing the tiny object with all his energy.

From a distance, he looked on as a spark possessed the estate, and ignited, sending a shockwave explosion rocketing through the edifice.  It plumed out of every available space, and then shook the ground on which he stood.  The smoke of a burning vision filtered up into the night sky as the entire dream washed away in a haze.

                                                *        *        *

The Savage land rumbled as a last scream of resilience, defying the very intent of those warheads locked in place within its caverns burning away the bedrock and grassland.   A sight more incomprehensible than anything ever before witnessed by the entire history of mankind resonated throughout the surface ground of the lush jungle vistas turned into nightmare wreckage by warring nations.  The mass of land lit up into a colour more beautiful than colour itself could describe.  It was a tribute to human engineering and sheer indomitable will, and a testament to one man's evil intent for a world in which he was too good to be brought into.  Light was enveloped in the becoming outburst, and even time in its entirety was sucked through the mushroom cloud of the onslaught.  Smoke rings issued forth from wreckage, debris and life, and it was all instantly immolated in the shockwaves of each impacting weapon set off by Cortez.  People, whose world was solely that of the small land were set alight and fell apart like leaves in the wind.  In that determined, fateful instant, their lives ended, and so did that of their world.  The land breathed a sudden, justified sigh of relief as its wounds were wiped clean by the rapid back draught purge of fire, and to its end, the contained world remained lost to the rest of humanity forever.

Escaping the cleansing, the two helicopters secured by Magneto's hand flew back to America in search of sanctuary after more than an ordeal might describe.  

                                                *        *        *

Still both in their infancy, it would be some time before each species matured enough to fend for itself.  They were all very young, and it would be such a long and difficult unbeaten path to tread.


End file.
